Tori Alamina
Since the day I started drafting this, more and more memories keep resurfacing because Wyatt really was that unforgettable of an individual. Memories with Wyatt have always been - and are even more so now - cherished.
He and I were closest in high-school when we were going to the same youth group, and would joke that we were siblings because our glasses made us kind of look related. I vividly remember youth group worship team practice. We would take a break from the setlist and start jamming to Mumford and Sons songs.
Wyatt will live in my memory as being selfless and generous. He gave such thoughtful gifts. Over time, he gave me a mandolin, a vintage astrolabe (seafarers directional tool), and one of my prized possessions to this day - a Rand McNally's world Atlas from the 1940s. It has always stood with a place of honor on my bookshelf through all my moves. Even more so than material objects, Wyatt gifted the people in his life with quality time. He was never too busy to talk, and often sacrificed his time to drive me around before I had my license.
Wyatt loved the people in his life so genuinely, and I wish I had been able to see the husband and father he had grown to become. Though our paths drifted apart post highschool graduation, his impact on my life has been grand. He helped me and so many other people through the darkest moments in their lives. Always with an encouraging word, deep empathy, and a joke to cheer us up.
Though the specific punchlines have long since faded from memory, Wyatt's perfect comedic timing and how he could make everyone laugh will forever remain with me. Having known Wyatt is a great honor.
To Wyatt, my long lost twin,
The week before I heard the news, I had thought of you when I bought tickets for a concert at the same venue where you brought me to see Twenty One Pilots for the first time. I still remember how you played the ukulele while waiting in line for that show and befriended everyone standing in line around us. I almost texted you when I thought about that, even pulling up your contact in my phone still saved as "White DeLoux," but didn't - I regret that.
Thank you for buying me that ticket.
When I'm at the venue again, I'll nod towards the section where we sat, and make sure to sing my heart out because I know that's what you would do.
Two days before I heard the news, I thought of you and our highschool friend group nostalgically as I booked a campsite at Morrow Mountain where we had all went camping that one time. I should have texted you then too. When I go, I'll make a s'more for you.
Until we get to see you again in eternity, you'll keep living on as a bright light in the memory of all who knew you.
To everyone reading this learn from my mistakes - when you think about your old friends - reach out and let them know.
