Dear Gavin,
Today I discovered third-hand that you were dead.
My mother had no more information that that; just that you were dead. I remembered you were in the Navy and you were so, so proud. I remembered last time I saw you, I congratulated you, and then I avoided you.
We were never good friends, and I know people were often impatient with you, myself included. You were mocked, you were disliked, and you were downright hated.
My only hope is that you knew, at some point, that you were also loved, liked, and appreciated. I hope that you knew God and that God knew you. I hope you’re with Him, rejoicing in what you always were: a child of God.
I wish people had treated you better, myself included, and shown you what we ought to be showing every person we encounter. I hope you knew that some of us really were proud of you for getting into the Navy, and proud of you for staying there. I hope you knew, even if only very, very briefly.
I wish I had the chance to say I’m sorry: I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better, I’m sorry I got impatient with you often, I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to fit in, I’m sorry you even wanted to fit in. I’m sorry your family struggled, I’m sorry God was hard for you to find at our church, I’m sorry we weren’t prouder of you, I’m sorry we didn’t show you that we loved you. I'm sorry I didn't take the time to know you better as a friend and equal. I’m sorry.
And I hope, finally, that you’re resting in that peace that some of us never really quite understood.
