Bothersday. That’s what it really was. It was a whole lotta day.
Between the time I got a message and the time I found out I was driving. The light is so pretty, I thought. It had been raining, but it wasn’t anymore, and the clouds were piled high like spaghetti and meatballs on a plate with a huge hole waiting for salad. The light poured through, clear, rosy, but no sun.
I got the call on the bridge, going over the water, with bad reception. Low tide, lots of little birds going through the mud trying to get some crustacean dinner, looking like confetti someone had thrown from the crest of the bridge, dotting the green sea below.
They’re taking my friend off of life support. Liver failure, kidney failure, etc. “Etc.” is too small for a thing like that. Et cetera. And so forth.
He is not expected to live through the night.
This is someone I have known for twelve years now. (Eleven and one month, really. No fronts.) The intersection of our lives was not supposed to be over yet. The last time I saw him wasn’t supposed to be the last time I saw him, and our last conversation wasn’t supposed to be the last.
I told him I loved him enough. I think I showed it enough. As much as I was able. I don’t know if he always saw it. Sometimes he has as warped a perspective as I. But he was a good man. Wounded, but a really good man. I just miss him.
I just miss him. And I’m sad.