It has been almost exactly 2 years since you died.  You don’t have a marker of any kind (I’m a little pissed at your family about this) and so I don’t know where to go to talk to you.

Nick and I always expected you to be around for our kids.  Skye, my niece, was born in October and it breaks my heart that you never got to meet her.  That baby’s laugh would do you so much good, and she looks so much like Nick it’s not even funny.  (She has his exact ears, which I find utterly hysterical.)  Dad’s been through a lot, and I think that maybe you and Dad could get along.  It’d be good for you to have friends your own age.

I never came around often enough.  I don’t know how to apologize enough for it, the only excuse I have to offer (and it’s a lame one) is that it’s how I have always been.  I’m the same way with the family I like, the family I dislike, my close friends… I’m a hermit, and it’s bad for me.  And so were you, and it was bad for you.  You forced yourself to go outside and be social, and I have to do the same thing with myself.

I don’t think I ever accurately described how much I was always inspired by you, how much I still am.  You were flawed, but you routinely did things that most people saw as miracles.  There are some many times in the past two years where I wanted to call you up and talk to you, or swing by and take you out to lunch.  I wish you had seen Nick in his uniform, and gone to see Star Trek with us when we were in town.  If I had known you were in the hospital, I swear, I would have been there.  I’ve never had a bigger shock than waking up to the news that you were dead, and your service was the next day.

I love you.  You were one of the few constants in my life, you are still a source of inspiration.  I think you were amazing and never knew how amazing you were.

I wish you were alive.  I’m sorry you’re gone.

Love always,