this post was submitted on 23 Dec 2024
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On December 24th, 2008 I was almost 21 and drinking wine at my Grandma's house with my family. We were having a good time. I don't really talk to that side of the family anymore though. I got a phone call from my best friend, Kyle. I joking let my uncle answer. Kyle asked to talk to me. He sounded angry.

The next few words he said were like a a fucking nuclear bomb that seared my fucking brain for life. He said, "NineMileTower, Steve died (in Iraq). A bridge gave out, his hummer flipped, and he drowned."

That was in 2008. I'm 37 now. I have two beautiful girls and an amazing wife. I think of Steve all the time. I ask myself, "Why do I deserve these amazing kids, wife and life, and he had to die?"

I fucking hate Christmas. I hate the stupid music. I hate fake bullshit decorations. I hate that I'm supposed to pretend that every Christmas it doesn't fucking kill me that he isn't here. I'm here enjoying my kids and their holiday and he's dead.

I fucking hate Christmas.

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[–] [email protected] 10 points 17 hours ago (1 children)

Steve sounds like the kind of person who would be every bit proud of you, even posthumously. He was there for his people, after all.

[–] [email protected] 19 points 17 hours ago

He was a jackass. He was obnoxious. He was at times annoying. He was always there. He listened when no one else did. He cared like no one else does. I love him and I miss him.