Missing Joe

Today, I woke up sick. Before the day was over with, Alana was sick too. This made the day slightly less pleasant, especially when I considered all that I had to do today. I opted to stay home all afternoon and evening and take care of a project I have needed to do for a month and a half (and have dreaded equally as long): reformatting my laptop.

That is what I am doing, as I write this. Unfortunately, spyware got the better of the poor thing and it has been quite sick for a while now. I got a spyware virus of sort, which creates a hole in my protection and invites every spareware on the planet to join the party on my computer. Anyway, the fresh install is taking place even now. I am currently on the desktop computer, for any of you who are trying to figure out how I can write this at the same time I am reinstalling Windows XP. Hopefully, I’ll be a lot more productive, now. I’ll be browsing with Firefox, instead of Internet Explorer (once I figure out how to set up my WiFi again, that is).

I can remember going through this whole process, countless times on Joseph Morgan’s computers—mainly his dad’s computer. Bro. Morgan used to get so frustrated with him for messing things up and would order him to reformat and reinstall everything. Then, he’d tell Joe to stay off of his computer (again). The last time that happened, we got delayed a few hours in leaving for Wisconsin camp.

I really missed that camp, this year, but not as much as I missed Joe. The last month has been hard. I haven’t made a lot of the phone calls I would like to make, because I wasn’t sure I could even talk about it yet. Camp would have been really hard, if I had gone. I don’t think there is anything about camp that doesn’t remind me of Joe.

I haven’t really talked about what I’ve been feeling to anyone. One night, I shared some of the regrets I have with Dave, Melissa, Sam and Tammy. I had found a message in my voice mail with his phone number and had written it down so that I could call him back. I never got to make that call. I’ll never forget being awakened by the phone and hearing Sis. Morgan’s voice on the other end of the line. Everything from that point on seemed like a dream from which I couldn’t awaken. Day after day, the feeling wouldn’t go away.

There are so many memories that I want to revisit, but it’s so hard, because I’ll never get to relive a single one. When I go to visit, there will be only a hole where he should have been—in a hundred places where I know he would have been. I’ll never answer my cell phone and hear his voice again—not even on my voice mail.

I wish the last year could have been different. When I talked to him, I wasn’t even sure if he was listening. It was like there was a tremendous chasm between us, made up of far more than just the 1500 miles or so between Columbia Falls and Kenosha.

I remember our last trip together, when we stopped in Milwaukee. It was to be the end of our adventures. What I wouldn’t give to have just one more. I can’t even put into words how much I miss him. It has been the hardest goodbye I’ve ever had to make—maybe, because I never got to make it.

If only life was as easy as a fresh install. I wouldn’t even mind being late for camp.