Delivered by Keith at Paul's Rosary on July 12, 2002
I've known Paul for almost 4 years, but only during the last year and a half did I really get to know him. I can't even begin to describe the pain I feel at losing him, but I want to try to describe the comfort I find in the memories I have of Paul.
Our relationship got off to a little bit of a rocky start. When I married my wife, Leila - Paul's cousin - about 2 years ago, he had said that he felt as if I was taking his cousin away from him. I didn't know Paul very well at that time - but he just had a way of affecting people. I didn't want him to feel that way, nor did my wife. We agreed to make sure to do everything we could to reach out to him, and let him know he wasn't losing a cousin - he was gaining one.
From there on out, it was just . . . Paul. It was never in him to stay upset at anyone. In the two times I remember him getting upset with me, it never lasted for more than half an hour. He and I quickly and easily got along. In what seemed no time at all, I was looking at Paul as my little brother. When he held my daughter for the first time, you could see there was an instant, unbreakable bond. He was her best friend - her big brother.
Right up until his last day, he was always the same. Kind, caring, loving, generous . . . Paul. I left for work that morning, and he was asleep. Later, he had gotten up and spent time with my wife and daughter as he so often did. It was to be his first day off in some time, and he had planned to go look at a car he really wanted to buy during the day - but he was asked to come in to work. Of course, Paul said yes. He couldn't say no. When I got home from work, my wife and I went to pick him up. We wanted ice cream, but the lines were too long at both places we went to. Paul was craving a sandwich, so we went to Togos. In the ten minutes he was inside Togos, he brightened the day of the people working there - acting completely goofy, then having the nerve to ask for an application.
He ordered two sandwiches for himself, and paid for ours too. On the way home, he ate half of one sandwich, and with his mouth still full of the last bite, said, "That was nasty." A little later, we saw a dog get its foot hurt when it got hit by a car. We followed the dog to its home, the whole time Paul was breaking off pieces of his other sandwich and trying to get the dog to eat it.
We got home, ate and just talked and joked. Later, he came to us and told us he was going to check out the car he wanted to buy. We never saw him again.
This barely scratches the surface of my relationship with Paul. I looked at him not just as my cousin, but as my little brother - in some ways, even my son. I'm more than 10 years older than Paul, and yet I saw so much of how I should be as a person in him. He's a playful, gentle, wise old soul. And for those who may be wondering or have drawn conclusions, Paul was a member of one, and only one, gang. It's name was "Oatmeal Mob." I suppose I need to explain that. One day, I had asked Paul to go with me somewhere. Someone thought we looked suspicious, probably because we were sitting way back in our seats. The cops were called, and they checked us out and let us go. Paul immediately made a big joke out of it, saying that we gotta start our own gang now. "Oatmeal Mob" started out with two members - me and Paul. He called it "Oatmeal Mob" because oatmeal is brown and white. Later that night, we jumped my wife into "Oatmeal Mob" . . . by holding her down and tickling her feet.
I'm so thankful of the time I had with him. I only regret having not told him that I love him. We were too tough for that, I guess. Well, I love you Paul. Always.