Phil left behind a bucket list that I found while clearing his belongings from his house in Harrisburg. It was in the drawer of a computer desk and as I read over it, I sat down to cry. The list contained several things he and I could have done together, things that were a part of my lifestyle at the time. Ride a motorcycle (I owned 2). Smoke a joint. Get a tattoo (I had many). Travel to Ireland.
I tried to get Phil to move in with me back then. But I was 20 and wild, and he was grieving and lost. I could feel his pain, tried to teach him meditation, tell him about karma, that better things had to come. He couldn't hold on long enough to see it through to the good times. I lament that bucket list. If only I could have gotten him a tattoo, helped him move on, made him see there where great things worth doing yet.
I tried to get Phil to move in with me back then. But I was 20 and wild, and he was grieving and lost. I could feel his pain, tried to teach him meditation, tell him about karma, that better things had to come. He couldn't hold on long enough to see it through to the good times. I lament that bucket list. If only I could have gotten him a tattoo, helped him move on, made him see there where great things worth doing yet.
