Monday, November 24, 2014

Rick Ochoa

(taken from my tumblr and put here, which seems more appropriate)


You know what haunts me that I’d really like to get off my chest? It’s something that I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on, that I’ve had a very hard time putting to words…
Rick Ochoa.
Now that winter’s come, I wear the wool zip-up hooded sweatshirt he got in Iceland when we went, almost every day. He got it for himself but I kept stealing it from him. It looked so good on him, too, with his black hair and dark skin and the hood’s pointed hood. It was adorable. So I took it, because I wanted to look adorable, too. He let me, and he let me have it. 
Now he’s gone.
One of the last things I told him in person was that I was sorry for the way things happened, and that I love him, and that I want to work on our relationship -we both cried, and hugged, and promised to have another heart-to-heart again soon. Because our relationship was complicated. I was mean. I let him rake his heart through my burning chaos and I told myself that it was his choice to keep me around, to put himself through it- and it wasn’t my responsibility. I loved him, but I was not in love with him. He knew this. I knew this. Everyone knew this. 
I should have been more responsible. I should have taken that burden. The hard choice of being delicate with a heart so bare and open like Rick’s was. It’s easy to put ourselves before others. Even when we believe ourselves to be good and loving. I was selfish. I didn’t want to lose Rick. He accepted me and my faults and he loved me anyway, he forgave me. Because that’s the way he was. 
The day he died was the day him and I were to get together to begin mending, a new beginning in our friendship. We planned on shooting some, but mostly we wanted to hang out. It was a Saturday. He had been in the hospital all week. When I found out he was in the the hospital and staying, I kept up with him and after a few days one of my texts were “you’re not allowed to die”, and he was discharged Thursday. I text him on Friday night and got no answer - but I figured he may have fallen asleep and it was no big deal. 
Saturday morning rolled around and when he didn’t respond I knew something was wrong. He always answered. Because that was the kind of guy he was. 
I should have gone over on Friday when he didn’t answer. I was wrong, he wasallowed to die… Much to a lot of people’s sorrow, which I wish he knew, because I really don’t think he did know how many people truly loved him, including me. 
I’m sorry.
Since Rick’s passing I’ve decided to try to be more like him. More accepting, more forgiving, and more freely loving and understanding. 
I’d like to extend a hand of friendship to any of Rick’s friends. You can take it, or not. I just have this idea that he’d want us all to be friendly, and I’m sorry to those of you I lashed out on when it happened. I was angry and hurt and guilty but I shouldn’t have taken it out on others.
i miss you, Rick

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