Seventeen Years Ago

I know that people often misunderstand my need/desire/insistance to remember Roby every year on the day that he died. I still remember that fateful morning in such detail - I can tell you where we were seated, the blanket that I held, the quilt that the people brought from the mortuary. I can remember the sounds, the sights, what we said, what we did, the wrenching sobs I couldn't hold back.

But that really isn't what this day is about for me anymore. It was about that for a few years, when the wounds were still too fresh and raw and burning. Now, I have scars that sometimes bother me or feel tight.

On this day each year, I remember that life can change in an instant. That a person can be here one day and be gone the next and we still have to get up and walk around as if we didn't just lose a part of ourselves. On this day, I remember Roby Starns. So many times, he said to me, "Don't forget me. I'm afraid no one will remember me."

Although I am far from the only person who remembers him, it is my duty, in friendship, to be the most loyal rememberer, the most dedicated. I have not forgotten. I will not forget. Ever. I do not beat my chest in agony any longer. There is just an ache, almost like my heartbeat, always there, sometimes loud, sometimes so quiet I have to stop breathing for a second to hear it.

I remember Roby Starns.