Breathe

One year ago today, my dearest and oldest friend left this world. Not a day has passed in the last 365 that I didn’t think about him. I have shed many, many tears for him; probably more than he would have told me to. He wanted us to be happy. The last time he was able to speak, all of his words to me were about how to make sure all of his friends and family found happiness and joy in their futures.

He had dedicated so much of his own life to that same goal. On top of being a shining light for those that knew him, he had just completed his Master’s in mental health counseling – a vocation he was tragically robbed of the opportunity to pursue by his illness. He would have been great at it; he already was, for all of us.

On his last day on Earth, he couldn’t speak. He communicated to us with hand gestures, kind eyes, hugs and held hands. He couldn’t write much, but he scrawled out a few notes that night. At one point, he saw me losing my composure very badly. Despite my attempts to be strong and stoic for him and for the others, I was failing. The sadness of it was overcoming me, and I started to choke with sobs. He took my pen and notebook from me, and he wrote the last word Charles Carrado III would ever write:

“Breathe.”

I will, Chalie. I will.