It’s strange. I have been writing this in my head ever since we got Charlie’s diagnosis but waited until the last minute to write it like I always do. It didn’t hit me until yesterday that this wasn’t fueled by my ADHD as usual, this was because once I do it it is real. It’s most likely the reason why even though I’ve spent the last four years thinking about it I never put it in writing. Now, I wasn’t composing it mentally because I was looking forward to it. I was doing it because I wanted to make sure I got this right. I wanted it to be a perfect encapsulation of Charlie, without making it about me. Even now I can hear charlie saying, with his mischievous smile, “oh, you’re going to make it about you. You can’t help yourself.”

To that I say, charlie I can’t write about you without including my own experiences.

And I can hear his response, “Yeah, yeah. Excuses.”

After charlie was diagnosed, the only thing I wanted was more time with him. At that point we had only been together 16 years and I wanted more than anything to make it to 20. That way he would have been in my life longer than he wasn’t. And I got my wish.

Charlie’s and my’s meeting was an accident. Back in the AOL days he instant messaged me thinking I was his friend “Nick.” This friend, who I have still never met, and I had had similar screen names. The first thing he ever said to me was “yeah, Diego and I are still together.” I replied “that’s great” and continued the conversation as though I knew him and what he was talking about. Eventually I asked him “who are you” and he explained the mistake.

Charlie’s and my relationship began with communication and never stopped. It was what shaped and molded everything. He had this uncanny ability of cutting directly through the bull shit to bring out what someone was really feeling. Which wasn’t fun for someone who, at the time, didn’t know anything about themselves. Charlie kept asking questions to not only figure someone out for himself, but so the other person could see it too. His constant role of “devil’s advocate” forced me to really examine my own beliefs and see another person’s point of view. I hated it. Nothing gave him more joy. One of my favorite memories was my mom telling me, with the biggest smile, “man he really knows how to push your buttons.”

His joy and positivity was infectious for me. Much like it was an achievement with my dad, getting him to laugh was always my favorite thing. The one thing that worked, without fail, was making myself the butt of the joke. Nothing made him laugh more. Well, maybe our dark sense of humor when it came to the reality of his disease. Even in something so serious we could see the absurdity of life and in that found joy to keep us going. While the jokes were not always well received it was his attempt to stay positive.

His positivity also extended to other people or situations. He usually saw the best in someone and even if they failed had the belief that they could and would change. He very rarely wrote anyone off. And in the rare instances that he did he would always backtrack and see them in a new light.

Charlie was always concerned about the joy of others. He was a fixer emotionally and physically. He would do anything that someone asked (even if he didn’t know how) to make that person’s life better. However momentary it may have been, or at the cost of his own joy. He may not have wanted to hang his mother’s shelves, curtains, or put together a BBQ but he did it because he wanted her to know that someone was there for her. To make her happy. It’s also the reason why his gifts were always lavish. He had a philosophy that gifts should be something that the person could not or would not do for themselves. Which made giving him gifts un-fun because I had no money and he had no reaction to sentimental trinkets.  I have since learned that it is a shared family trait with his sister. Every year I had to step up my game to find something that would be “extravagant” but within my budget. That’s near impossible to do. So, when I broke down and bought him a high end Kitchen Aid mixer I went into debt to do it. And for each subsequent gift after.

Charlie was simultaneously worried about finances but also not concerned about money. The moment he ever got any excess cash he would make some ridiculous purchase or take us both on some off-the-cuff trip, spur of the moment. At the time I was bothered by his (and let’s face it my) inability to save for something bigger. Spending whatever we got when we got it didn’t benefit us. Though with hindsight I’m glad we never did, because it absolutely served us. It gave us experiences that I will not forget. We got to live life instead of planning for it under the misguided belief that we could do it tomorrow. That was the best lesson Charlie taught me, without knowing he was doing it at the time.

I am genuinely disappointed that he wasn’t a teacher for longer. Or that his coworkers couldn’t see the potential and ability he had in being an instructor. He was always eager to show someone how to do something. Which he most likely learned how to do on his own. He was self taught and not one for the finer details. But he was eager to show me how to do something, even if I ultimately got super bitchy about it because what we both failed to understand that we had two very different ways of explaining something. So we would have to sit back and listen to what the other was trying to say to complete our task.

Being an unconventional teacher is what charlie was for me. With everything that made him up it culminated into being a guide on how to be a better person and how to live a good life. One where the only regret is that you don’t have enough time to keep going. Which, to me, is the better side of “I wish I had more time to do the things I never did.” I will miss him more than I could ever put into words, because he was truly my other half. He had the biggest hand at making me who I am today through all our trials and tribulations, failures and successes.

So, I guess you were right, Charlie.  I did make this about me.  But only because you’re invariably tied with who I am and who I have become.