One-hundred-twenty hours ago I heard “Calling Doctor Love” and “Fat Bottomed Girls” played in church. I know it would have made you laugh but the funeral director did not find it quite as funny. When he listed your family he left out my name. I sat still next to my mother and pretended I couldn’t feel everyone’s eyes shift over onto me.
Ninety-six hours ago I had four people tell me that the disease changed you. Three of them told me what happened to you wasn’t fair. Two went on to tell me that regardless of how you acted your last one-thousand-four-hundred-sixty hours you still loved me. I didn’t need them to remind me.
Ninety-six hours ago I made two bad decisions and used you as an excuse for both. It wasn’t fair to either of us.
Ninety-two hours ago I listened to “Crocodile Rock” for the first time since we sang it during karaoke. You did most of the singing then, considering you only pulled me in to sing the obnoxious “la la”part. Hearing this song again made me the happiest I had been in two-hundred-forty-seven hours.
Forty-eight hours ago my mom gave me the shirt you wore when we went to the Father Daughter Dance. It hasn’t left my side in forty-eight hours and neither have you. I think maybe you’ve been there longer than forty-eight hours but I’m not sure.
I haven’t felt anything in two-hundred-forty-seven hours, I don’t know if any of us have. Doctors would tell me that you stopped feeling two-hundred-forty-seven hours ago and that we should probably wait a few more hours until we expect to feel anything again.
Hawaii Pacific Review 
Amazing
Oh, Pay, you are an amazing young lady. How proud your family is. I know Paul’s love will surround you for the rest of your life.