At Ryan's memorial Wednesday night in West Chester, people were invited up to the microphone to say a few words about his life, whatever they were feeling at that moment. I walked to the podium and tried to share memories of my dear friend, but the words were just spinning in my head. What came out were the mumblings of a man trying his best not to cry, and I wasn't even successful at that. I didn't break down, because I knew Angie or his family didn't need to see that, but I also didn't get to properly convey what Ryan meant to me. I won't be able to do that here either, but I will try. Here is what I wished I could have told everyone then.
I felt 34-percent funnier when I was with Ryan, but I guess everyone did. He had such a hair trigger laugh reflex. He lived his life wanting to laugh and wanting you to laugh with him. He would cackle really fucking loud, too, and it wasn't uncommon that he would fall over from it. Sometimes I would fall with him because his spirit was very contagious.
He wasn't incapable of seriousness, though. Ryan was a great listener. If you were having troubles, he was always someone you could go sit down and talk to. Granted, most of our sitting down was actually standing up playing pool together, but he was always there if you were sad about something. That's why all this is even harder because right now I really need to talk to him but I can't.
The Rest of the Post is at Dickhouse.tv
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