Shane

5-16. Shane passed. And it hit hard.

It made every one of us face our own fucking mortality. Forced us to admit that the immortal bullshit we fed ourselves at 18 was exactly that. Bullshit.

Leading up to that night, we knew what was coming. We just kept hoping for more time. He’d been kicking ass and taking names — so when I heard “days” for the first time, I lost it. I knew I had to get the word out, get people in to see him. Fuck keeping it quiet, put it on blast. People care about you, Shane; let them show you. But I still didn’t want to believe it.

We had a lot of talks on that porch. And his front yard, moments after we carried him out, is where my nephew christened me Uncle Longbeard. A lot of tears were shed there. (The rocking chair was my brother’s. It sat in his basement, and when I need to spend time with him, that’s where I go.)

Friends from all over called, texted, sent money, showed up. It was amazing to see how blessed Shane was — how many lives he’d touched. It surprised him. And he loved it.

By the time I got to Shane’s, D., Hutch, and B. were already on the porch. It was like high school all over again — just old as fuck. D. asked Shane if there was anything he wanted to do. His answer: go to the casino. So that’s exactly what we did. And without any of us knowing what the others had planned, we’d each set up something for him. Something special, just for that night, just for him.

That night will forever be one of the most important of my life. Being there with my brother, having a good time, surrounded by good people. A night I’ll never forget.