A Life Cut Short

There are so many questions that have been running through my mind the last few days. Why did this happen? How did this happen? How is everyone supposed to move on?

And deep down, I know that none of those questions will likely ever be answered. Not that it would matter anyway. It simply is what it is. Answers aren't going to change anything.

My friend from high school died Monday morning at age 27. To try to describe him in any way, shape or form would be a complete wash. He can't be explained as "the funniest person you've ever met" because everyone says that about their friend; it wouldn't do him any justice-- and I guarantee you, Pat was funnier.

You can't just say he was "friends with everyone" because-- again, everyone says that. And seriously, this kid was friends with EVERYONE he's ever met. Nobody disliked Pat... except for the random strangers who were sometimes the butt of his dirty tricks.

And did this guy have tricks. Things you couldn't come up with in your wildest dreams. Pat and I were voted the class clowns of our high school. But he deserved it light years more than I did. The guy could make you cry and quiver from laughing so hard.

His laugh itself was too much to handle. It literally sounded like a machine gun of some kind. Completely ridiculous and infectious. I wish I had it on video to look back on.

But I am lucky enough to have the mark of Pat Hurd etched permanently on my face...

The last day of high school, we had to gather all of our belongings from our locker. Well, some of us decided to take a guitar class that year, so I was hauling a huge acoustic 6 string to my car.

As Pat and I were walking out into the parking lot, he decided to have some fun...

He grabbed my guitar from me and acted like he was going to smash our other friend's car with it--- except in the act, he clocked me in the side of the face, right next to my eye.

Profuse bleeding like a fire hose out of the side of my head. Followed by Pat trying to stop the bleeding with a balled up undershirt. Followed by a trip to the hospital. Followed by Pat sneaking out of the hospital room and treating himself to some vending machine hamburgers. Followed by me having a black eye and bright purple stitches for my graduation.  Followed by a permanent scar.

Lots of great memories. What a shame there won't be any more.