Hey Man.  It’s been a while.  I’m not the kind of person who tell people how I feel or any of that shit…  But for you.  For you I’ll give it a shot.

I don’t know if you are out there somewhere or if all that is left of you is the hearts and memories of those you touched.  And if it is the latter, you are safely with us, because you certainly touched a lot of hearts.

It is natural that I thought of you this time of year.  I met you on New Year’s Eve.  I was 12 years old.  My oldest son is 12 now, you’d like him.  I know he’d like you.  Kids like him, like me, need a guy like you to talk to.  

It was a New Years Party, with the families of a couple of guys my dad worked with.  Who would have believed that we would still be getting together two decades later?  

I looked forward to talking with you.  You were the only adult I’d ever met that understood me, without judgment, without prejudice.  As I was a teenager, and then a young adult I valued your opinion.  Pretty amazing, considering I only saw you once a year.

You gave me a great piece of advice once.  ”Try everything and anything, but be careful.  Make sure that you don’t do something you can’t fix.”

I’m proud to say that I was able to fix everything.  It wasn’t easy.  But I did.

The last time I saw you, you couldn’t speak above a whisper.  The cancer had spread to your throat.  I should have said goodbye, but I’m no good at that kind of shit.  I don’t remember what meaningless words left my mouth.  But I could tell that you heard my good bye anyway.  That was our last New Year together.

I was amazed at your memorial service how many people were there.  How many kids.  You were a teacher.  And I discovered that I wasn’t the only kid who could turn to you.  It seems I had a lot of company in that department.  Yet, somehow, you made each of us feel as though we had a special relationship with you.

I saw your son.  He’s a man now.  I guess it’s funny that a man nearly old enough to be my grandfather had a son that much younger than me.  He misses you.  But he’s doing ok, I think.

There’s no point to this I guess.  Or maybe there is.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m not worried about finding the right words.  You’d understand what I’m trying to say.

Thanks.  And Happy New Year.