It’s your brother Sean.  I’m missing you bro.  You’d be proud of me, I’ve been painting the house and somehow, I finally understand the concept that no matter how hard you scrub and wash, you will always miss one section of paint that dripped, slopped or fell on you that you are oblivious with.  I remember the days where you’d come back from some job and your hands would be covered with paint hiding the wear and tear that you put yourself through.

Theresa is taking care of Grandma.  She’s a handful and I know Theresa misses you.

The family is not the same without you.  Even though it’s been over 3 years, it feels like yesterday when you and I had that final call.

We cussed, we discussed my poker and in the end we both told each other that we loved the other. I’m not afraid to say that. You are my brother and I look forward to the day long in the future where we can throw the football and talk again.

I’m not good. I admit it. Work is challenging, Joanna is wonderful and mom won’t come to the wedding.  I’m hurting.  I stayed up till 5 in the morning today just trying to sleep.  Finally Joanna told me to just go play poker. So I did and I failed.  My focus is far from what it used to be. I used to be able to make the reads and tear down the players.  I’m rusty, and I miss you.  I’m trying to be strong but in the end, I admit my weaknesses. 

I know, it’s not a good idea to let everyone know what I’m feeling or what I think.  Probably a good idea not to blog.  But that’s not me.  I see great things in the future.  

This morning is like how I feel.  It started with dark omnious clouds in the air.  The day seemed like it would be gloomy forever. It stormed, with lightning, thunder and hail all around.  Lights went off and we were in the dark. But then, the storm passed, the lights came back on and in the end the sun shone.

I’m in the thunderstorm part of my life. The hail is pounding me, cracking and knocking me down. But as I am bruised and pained, the sun peeks from the clouds and the rainbow returns.

There is damage, some that will never be fixed, nor healed.  But there as a reminder that as long as I give people the power to hurt me they will.

I’ve become very disillusioned. I’m starting to see things that I wish that the curtain would cover again.  But like the great and mighty oz cowered behind the curtain. I cower in safety.

Maybe I should leave Lubbock, move to somewhere else and start over. I don’t think that leaving would be the solution.

Because you can run, but you can never hide from family.

I wish you were here.  You’d come up here to Lubbock and we’d go play golf at Shadow Hills. Just you , me and maybe L.T. would tag along.

We’d drink a shot to grandpa and to Tara , saying nothing but saying enough.

I need a sign brother.  Everytime I’ve asked, somehow you’ve always been there giving me that one thing that your super busy brother has missed.  Something that was right in front of me.

But you aren’t here, and I’m hurting.  I feel isolated from the people that I love the most.  And yet it hurts more to push away from them than I would have thought.

I’ve been lucky for some great opportunities and people to come my way.  I’m going to try and go back to school and get that piece of paper that maybe would make me feel that I’ve accomplished something in 39 years.

Monday, I was just on my way home after yet another painful day at work when Joanna called me telling me to come to the house immediately.  I asked why and she told me that I needed a smile and that I would get one when I got there.   When I pulled into the driveway I saw 4 new tires for the Mustang that I hadn’t been able to purchase because money has been tight.  Somehow one of my friends knew I needed a pick me up.

But I’m not going to work on the Mustang until I get the house finished painted and organized.

I wish you were here to sit, listen to music and just chat.

I miss you brother!!! Could you mention to the Big Guy that I could really use some sleep.  These three hour nights are killing me. If you could put a word in I would appreciate it.


Your hurting brother Sean.

4 thoughts on “Dear Patrick,

  1. Hey, watch your language THAT girl. This is a family blog.
    Oh you were being metaphorical? Sorry, that just sounded dirty.

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