Dear Mitchell,
Hey bro! I know, I know, it’s been a long time. Sorry. I could say that I’ve been too busy to chat, what with raising a family and building a career and all, but there’s no good excuse for waiting nearly 31 years to reach out to my best friend.
You’re probably wondering why I’m doing it now, after all this time. Well, I’ll tell you. I was at a funeral the other day back in my hometown and after the service at the graveside, I realized that we were standing near the place where … well, you know.
So after a little searching, Anita and I found the marker. We’d been there before, three decades ago. Suddenly it felt like it had just been minutes. All the memories came flooding back — how you and I spent hours and hours together, laughing, talking, conspiring, sometimes arguing. How the four of us — you, your girlfriend, Anita, me — became such good friends. How you always said you wanted to build spaceships and how I was going to change the world through journalism.
And about that awful day in 1982 when my dad called me at college to tell me about the wreck.
Things have changed a lot for me. I actually graduated (I know you’re surprised). Anita and I got married. In fact, we’re still together. Wish you could have been there that day. You’d have been standing with me. A few years later, we had a son. A few years after that, we had another.
Meanwhile, I built a career in what I wanted to do. So did Anita. We have a good life together.
Sad to say, somewhere along the way I lost track of your mom and dad and little brothers. We even lost track of your girlfriend after she got married and moved away. Except for the occasional post on Facebook (don’t ask; you’d hate it) I don’t hear from our old crew much. I’m sorry about that, too.
I think about you a lot, but not as much as I should. Don’t get me wrong, the good memories I cherish. But it’s also painful, thinking of all the times we talked about our dreams and how you never got the chance to realize yours.
So, anyway, while Anita and I were standing by your grave the other day, I made a connection I never had before: You share a birthday with one of our sons. And it got me thinking about the aspirations you shared with me.
Look, this is going to get a little sappy. If I were trying to say this to you in person, we’d both bust out laughing before I got through it. So just bear with me.
The people in our lives when we’re young contribute to the adults we become. So, part of who I am I owe to you. I’ve known few people as loyal, compassionate and selfless as you. I know I was the older one and our friends thought of you as a little brother to me. But as often as not, you were the one setting the admirable examples, like integrity and dedication. No matter what was going on in your life — and there was some heavy stuff, dude — you made time to help someone else.
I hope and pray I got some of that from you. And I hope and pray that I’ve been able to pass a little bit of it on to my sons.
They both remind me of you. My older one is just starting a career designing airplanes. It may not be spaceships, but it’s close. And my younger son’s got the same quick wit and love of numbers as you. Plus, you share his birthday.
Can’t be coincidence, right?
Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re trying to suppress a chuckle. Go ahead. It’s OK. What are friends for if you can’t laugh at them when they’re baring their souls? But I thought you’d want to know that, in a real way, those dreams you had for yourself live on through my sons.
And me.
Thanks for that.
Your friend,
Rusty
Rusty Turner is editor and publisher of the local daily newspapers of NWA Media.