Staff Sgt. Isaac "Palo" Palomarez - 4/14/1982-5/8/2008
This is my best friend, and now he's dead. I found out two days ago, and I still can't wrap my head around the enormity of it all. My friend is dead, and I'm never going to see him again. Ever. In my head, he's still over there, kicking it with his squad mates, sending me angry emails about how the Avalanche should just hang up the skates for good, and how Afghanistan isn't that much different than back home, in Colorado. I mean, Jesus, I have an email from him from last weekend. LAST weekend. If I just talked to him, he can't be dead. He called his mom on Tuesday to wish her a happy Mother's Day. If he just talked to his mom, he can't be dead. People are only supposed to die when you haven't talked to them for years, right?
We had so many plans together. He was done with his enlistment in July of 2009; we were supposed to get a place together, just like we did in college. He was supposed to get some ice skates and start playing on my team, just like in college. He was supposed to be my Best Man at my wedding, and I was supposed to be his. He was going to buy my car, we were going to start a hockey shop, or a bar, or a strip club. We were going to go to Avalanche games, and Rockies games, and the Colorado State vs. Colorado University football game.
I haven't been able to cry for more than a few seconds at a time, all weekend, I think because I can't let myself think about what happened. There isn't a single thing in my apartment that doesn't have his touch on it. My hockey sticks, my Xbox, my cats, my bottle opener, our old hockey jerseys. I think if I started thinking about it too much, it'll just overwhelm me, and I won't be able to breathe. It's hard enough being strong for our friends and his parents; who is supposed to be strong for me?
I know I'm supposed to remember the good things about him; that's the hard part. Every good memory I have just reminds me that there aren't going to be any more good memories. I'll never get to see him get married, have kids, buy a house, get a dog, finish college, or curse out the Avs for "Always looking for the pretty pass on the Power Play, instead of just shooting the damn puck!"
Isaac, you'll always hold the dearest place in my heart. I will never forget you, and when I'm up to it, your picture will always have a place on my wall. I hope they serve Guinness in Heaven, because nothing would make me happier than to think of you, waiting for the beer to settle, a twinkle in your eyes, asking me how the hell they make the beer do that.
Kick one back for me, and maybe the Avs will do better next year.
I love you.