There are certain things I've never wanted to witness.
I think my reoccurring thought back on a Thursday in September of 2003 was, I just want one more day.
Maybe it was my God complex where I tend to believe I can fix people or change the course of what's intended to come. Or maybe, it was just pure unfiltered guilt. Whatever. I know my thought process that rainy Thursday afternoon was no different than anyone else in that overcrowded church.
My last image of him is blurry. It's because he was walking away from me with slumped shoulders, head down and a slow gait. I quietly refer to that image as dead man walking. He was. Ten days to turning 33. He was a defeated man.
I remember thinking, I will never see him again. I pride myself in being right. I am not proud that I was right 24 hours before he left this earth.
One thing I have never wanted to witness was someone I love and care about become defeated. I hoped and still hope, I don't witness that again. It haunts you at the most random of moments: an old song, a familiar building, an alcohol induced moment of longing, or just at 2:30 on a Wednesday morning 12 years later for no particular reason.
Time heals nothing. Don't kid yourself. Those images or memories may become blurry as time moves on but that void only deepens. Because best friends, family, spouses, first loves, whatever... they are all irreplaceable when they or we move on.
I often write about my old black lab, Buddy. I had a dog after him. I don't write about that dog. He was no Buddy. I've had best friends since 2003, I don't write about them. Certain people own a piece of us long after they are gone. That piece is taken with them wherever we go after this place. And the piece of them we own, its stuck right here as a lump in our throat and sometimes, it even surfaces as an awkward smile. I know this because I can get choked up and smile at the exact same moment when I replay that blurry image of my self defeated best friend walking away for the very last time. Really, that image has evolved over time. For years, it was just a weak dead man walking. Now, he's that wounded gun shot cowboy slumped over on his horse fading off into the sunset at the end of an old western.
He's my hero.
Despite, so much.
It was just weeks ago, I muttered moms are dropping like flies. It's as if everyone my age has a lost a parent recently. My family, my support system consists of one person: my mother. We don't have the warmest of relationships. She's not the most nurturing, either. I'm probably not the greatest son. Whatever. It doesn't matter.
I think I'm going to die.
That sentence came across my phone today from my mom. We live in a world where affection, pain, love, intimacy and fear are articulated by human fingers instead of human voices. My almost natural reaction was to text her back and ask why. Almost.
I called her. She was crying. I mean, sobbing. It doesn't matter why but I can say that her reasoning for those inconsolable tears were born of self defeat. She was ready to give up. Sixty something years of bad luck or poor fortune or whatever has taken its toll on her.
She's the reason I don't believe in karma. Bad things always happen to her. Sometimes, they are consequences of her own actions but nonetheless, she never gets a break from the universe.
One thing, I have never wanted to witness was my mom feeling defeated. And I did, today. This little reminder how fragile and vulnerable she really is broke my heart. I'm powerless. We all are. My God complex is futile. My pure unfiltered guilt is just an unnecessary anchor. I learned that today as I listened to her choke on her despair.
One day, she will be gone. I will be turning to all my friends who have lost their own; hoping for comfort or at least, just to listen to me. Really, no one can comfort us when we lose certain people. Our job is simply to listen. And I know, I will need those caring ears to simply empathize with me as I tell them...
She was my hero.
Despite, so much.
