Loss is not something that's new to me. I'd like to think my exposure to so many deaths throughout my life has strengthened me in some way, but there are times when I can't shake the grief. The past few days have been an example of this.

I had a father once. Not from the blood or of the flesh, but from the heart. My mother first met this man when I was just 6 years old. He stayed in our lives until I was 12. He loved us. He wanted to marry my mother and become my father. My mother declined his proposal, however. For years he tried to win her over until one day he could no longer take the heart-ache and left.

One of his greatest fears was of me getting too attached. Somewhere deep down he knew nothing would ever become of his relationship with my mother, but his love for us was so strong. I did grow to be attached though. He became my best friend, my mentor, and my father. No one else has ever been able to filling that role.

Years later around 2005 I had a peculiar dream. In my sleep I saw myself walking around my apartment following the sound of a shutting door and footsteps. I looked out the window and saw a man walking across the parking lot toward thick blanket of fog by the entrance to the woods in the back of the lot. I couldn't visually recognize him, but in my heart I knew him. I ran downstairs screaming, "Wait!" but he never looked back. I sprinted towards the dense fog that enveloped the wooded area and called for him. A moment later his vague shadow appeared from the fog. I asked where he was going to which he responded, "I'm going away for a while, but I will see you again." I asked why he had to leave, but he just smiled, turned around to leave, and vanished.

Years later my mother and I decided to stop by at his apartment. We noticed it looked as thought it had been abandoned for quite some time. As I walked into the back yard where we all used to sit and enjoy the weather, I knew immediately that he was gone. I'm sure my mother did as well, but she denied. Only when she contacted his past friends did she find out I was right. He was gone.

I wept for hours. Days. No death has ever affected me the way his did. I think back to all of the days he would come over to watch movies and hang out. How he would take me to the park and let me ride on his back as he ran laps. How he would take me for rides in his Firebird in the summer, taught me how to use a slingshot, told me stories, and kept me company. I remember clinging onto his warm body; the worn fabric of his black, sleeveless shirt; his freshly shampooed, dirty blonde hair, and slate blue eyes.

I feel him around me often. Comforting and reassuring me. I can't help but look outside from time to time and imagine his car driving up and watching him walk through the door with a smile on his face like he used to. I want more than anything to be able to hug him and feel the warmth and protection of his arms around me.

I'm sorry that this is so depressing. I may take it down eventually, but for now I need some form of an outlet.

I miss you, my friend. I hope you are well and I cant wait to be with you again. I love you, Ed.

Edward A. Stagaard
2/12/1950 - 7/20/2005

Love Lives On.