Shawn. Two years ago today he flew away. He is the person who never gave up on me, not once. He rode the waves of my illness without blinking.He yanked me up out of the muck when someone who promised to never leave rocked me and took off. He took terrible selfies, he called me a brat, I called him a dork. He was weird, I was weird, our weirdness meshed into a giant weird creature of awesome.I was never too much for him, he wouldn't disappear if I was having a bad day, he would send me quotes and pictures about being strong until I was strong again. He was a man who loved words. Reading them, writing them, listening to them. Everything Shawn did, he did with devout devotion. He loved his boys, his friends, George, and Checkered Records, his family, his life, all with an intense and fierce passion. He is the man whose name is forever inked on my arm and my heart. I'll never forget the day in the hospital when they told him it was stage 4. I'll never forget the way his voice sounded when he told me they were stopping treatment, and I'll never forget my head on his shoulder or the way his hand felt in mine in his last days. The saying "only the good die young" flits in and out of my head. Along with him telling me to buck up and quit typing and to go put on some music and think about all the time we had, not all the time we lost. He was always pushy. My Songbird.
