Wake me up

Pat's Myspace's name is "If he brings you to it, he'll bring you through it."

I'm ready for the assistance any time now Pat!

What happened. What and how I can offer some information. The why, well, you're on your own.

Pat was in the hospital. He was on prescription medications and wanted to stop taking them. Because they play with the chemicals in your brain, you can't stop taking them on your own. Its not safe. So, he did the right thing and went in to safely wean his body off of the medications.

Last night, he was doing great. He spoke to family members and was looking forward very much to Halloween... his favorite holiday. He was sick, had bronchitis they thought. He also has asthma. At 4am the nurse did rounds and checked on him and he was fine. The details are fuzzy here, so they might not be perfect. Apparently around 5ish he was found with no pulse. They tried to revive him and couldn't. Aspirated in his sleep.

At 5:30ish? my sister got the call from the hospital. She called our parents. I got the call around 6ish from my mom.

Our family got to go and see him. We tried and tried to reach his fiancee but we kept getting voicemail. I called the police and had them go to her house. I wanted her to come to the hospital so bad, we all did. It just didn't feel right without her there. But by 7, we needed to leave.

So, Kathy tucked him in. She wiped his face. She asked him to wake up and when he didn't, she grounded him until she saw him again. And we left. We left him there. He's gone. And it seems surreal and little by little the reality hits.

Moments tonight of laughing, interrupted by a sigh or a memory. The door would open and every one of us would look over expecting to see that giant goofball walking through the door. With his tattoos and big smile...

We had this private joke. This stupid thing... we were out one night and I had heard this corny ass joke:

What's green and Irish and sits on the lawn?

Paddy O'Furniture

Stupid right? Well, we laughed our asses off. And ever since then, I've called him Patty O'Furniture. I gained a few pounds, okay a lot of pounds, over the past few years and he started calling me "Heff-enifer", so in turn I started calling him Fatty O'Furniture.

Fatty for short.

Only family can get away with that shit. And that was our antagonistic, teasing way we loved each other.

Did I just write that in the past tense? I did didn't I?

If you're a Granbanian, I hope you know how much Pat loved this town. He loved the people here, he loved doing what he could to make this a better place. Pat wasn't perfect, I know that. We all do. But hell, who is? But I guess what matters, is that it mattered to him.

It mattered that DARE existed, that every kid got to play ball, that every field was safe. It mattered that the kids he helped had someone who would listen. It mattered to him. And he did something about it. He wasn't afraid to stick his neck out, he wasn't afraid to just get out there and make a difference.

Make waves.