If you follow me on Facebook, you may notice that my profile picture is of me, but not my husband.
It's my friend Ryan. At a Party of Epic Proportions in March, so of course, it was for St. Patrick's Day. We drank. We ate. We made merry. And we danced.
Two weeks ago today, my friend Ryan was killed in a drunk driving accident. He was coming home from work in St Louis as a DJ at 2am on Friday morning, when a woman going westbound on the eastbound side of the interstate hit him head on. Killed him instantly, and his car caught fire. The woman was in critical but stable condition last I'd heard.
I don't care. She took my friend's life with her carelessness. If she makes it, she will go to jail and will have to live with what she did to Ryan for the rest of her life. Good.
We're making some window stickers to as a memorial to him. They're the Batman logo--his favorite comic book character. I couldn't even look at the proof without having to go to the bathroom and cry.
Ryan, dude, this sucks. You stayed with us during Contamination. You are a fellow character in "The Apocalypse of Enoch" (zombie novel). Any chance you could stare at my boobs (or ANY girls' boobs, for that matter), you did. Most of us didn't even mind--they're just boobs, after all.
You were my first DnD experience. You were the first to put BiL in his place with the 'your mom!' jokes. You were an excellent DJ and karaoke master. My biggest regret? That I didn't get to sing with you. I'm making that part of "My Ryan List" -- when someone asks me to sing karaoke, I'll do it. There are more goals on my Ryan List, but that's just to start.
I miss you. It's been two weeks, but it seems like forever.
RIP Ryan. I just want to hear you from the heavens, leading the praise team as loud as you possibly can. Which, for you, would be normal.