A part of me wants to feel like it's my fault because I had the chance to be there and chose not to. A part of me wants to blame my friends for saying to me, yes I need to be there and then backing out. But all this man ever did was push you away and then be angry at you for leaving. I have to say now that I am not mad at myself nor my friends. This was his choice, his control, his disease. The one to blame is him. He made that choice to die and I cannot be mad at anyone else, but him.
I don't feel right when I say R.I.P., how peaceful can it be? To finally see the whole picture and know what you did was such a waste and what you did hurt the ones that love you. The after life is when you are forced to understand everything and hell is when your forced to see yourself.
You were such a humorous and loving man. You had it in you to heal, I saw it so often. You loved it when I laughed with you during the Big Lebowski it made you feel better knowing that I too had such a sick sense of humor. You cared for me like I was one of your own children. You cared for many like they were your own children. You filled your house with people you could take care of because you missed your family and all you had to do was try. Your family was alway here. People that loved you were always here.
My heart breaks for my friends, your children, that loved you. And my heart breaks for you, your pride that kept you from seeing it so clearly.
Donny was a good bowler, and a good man. He was one of us. He was a man who loved the outdoors... and bowling, and as a surfer he explored the beaches of Southern California, from La Jolla to Leo Carrillo and... up to... Pismo. He died, like so many young men of his generation, he died before his time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took him, as you took so many bright flowering young men at Khe Sanh, at Langdok, at Hill 364. These young men gave their lives. And so would Donny. Donny, who loved bowling. And so, Theodore Donald Karabotsos, in accordance with what we think your dying wishes might well have been, we commit your final mortal remains to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean, which you loved so well. Good night, sweet prince. - Walter Sobchak
