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Eric. Born September 17, 1988. Died March 6, 2007. (I say Febuary 22, because that was the last day anyone saw him.)

My brother was three years older than me. (Technically, two years and 11 months, but…) We grew close through our hectic life with our step mother; she trashed the house, and we cleaned it up. She often yelled at us, just for being children.

My brother and I often told on each other, hoping for our mom to love one of us, but we’d both end up getting in trouble. So, all we had was each other. We would comfort each other–or rather, HE comforted ME–the next morning after anything truly awful.

*By the way, our mom is awesome! She wasn’t stable then, but she is now. We have a very good, healthy relationship. :]*

We both liked the same things. We liked video games, watching Braveheart, talking about religion and philosophy, and just so much. We were both gay.  It was like, we were the same soul in separate bodies. It’s still so amazing how I took it for granted back then.

Because no matter HOW BAD things got, I knew I was NEVER alone. Eric was always there for me.

We both loved our Nana. She, Eric and I lived on a farm in Texas. A little town in the middle of nowhere. I might have had my problems then, but they are certainly nothing compared to now.

Anyways, so when Nana died, Eric just…he was already doing drugs–I don’t know how much–and smoking, and those habits only worsened over time. He drank. He may have done these things, but on the surface, he seemed so happy, all of the time. He was really funny, too–he always knew just what to say when I was sad. I could tell him anything.

Sometimes, Eric would be Catholic. Then Buddhist. Then New Age. Then in the end, just “other”. We read “Conversations with God” by Donald Walsch(very good books!), and he just…stopped caring, I think. I asked him, “Eric, does God care if I’m Wiccan?” He looked so sad then, taking a drag on his cigarette, “No, Tabby. God doesn’t care at all.” I think there was more to what he was saying, now that I think about it.

Four years after Nana’s death, Eric went “missing” for two whole weeks before anyone found him. The last time I saw him, he looked like hell.

Eric would often knock on my window so I could let him into the house–our parents had taken away his key for some reason–and when I looked out my window, he looked so different. His clothes were wrinkled. He had a five-o-clock shadow, and his face was just so sad…

I didn’t know who he was at first. I walked out, and opened the front door. He was siting–unusual–and smoking a cig. “Go inside Tabby,” he said calmly, “I’ll see you later,” and as an afterthought, “I love you.”I looked at him strangely, “I love you, too.” And I went inside.

That was it. I never saw him. He never called me to say one last thing. He never came back, doing some silly dance, or singing Madonna or Chere.

I’ll never see him again…unless by some miracle there IS an afterlife.

I love you, Eric. You were the other half of my soul.

Thank you for being there in the beginning with me.