I've seen your face; I've heard your voice; I've read a bit about your story. But I never met you, and I don't know much about your life.
Here's what I do know: You have kind eyes, the type that radiate hope and joy, though I've only seen them on a screen. Your story breaks me and sustains me. And I hope to meet you someday. Because I know that you did it--you realized what was important in life, in those precious days you had left. And I am so happy for you, really I am. It brings tears to my eyes at work and throughout my days.
Because you shared yourself with others, producing heartbreaking beauty along the way.
Because you maintained hope and smile.
Because you were strong as you strummed your guitar and sang your way into our hearts.
Because you were dying and you did something about it: you lived.
You're going up, up, up, but you're flying a little higher. Flying forever, where the view is a little nicer. Maybe someday, I'll see you up there.
So in the meantime, I wave to you as you look down at me from your paradise in the sky. And I give you an air five. Because you are beautiful. And you made it to your clouds.
You reminded me that we don't have to die to fly, only to fly that much higher. Your last days showed me that we can fly every day--we can soar--until the day we join you that much higher.
Pray for us up there, man--that when our turn comes, we won't say, "If only I had a little bit more time."
I'll see you up there, man. I'll see you in the clouds.
It won't be long now.
"Let us sing now, not in order to enjoy a life of leisure, but in order to lighten our labors. You should sing as wayfarers do — sing, but continue your journey. Do not be lazy, but sing to make your journey more enjoyable. Sing, but keep going." -St. Augustine