The Ghost At Gate Eight

I forced myself to come, I sit and I wait, soon they will call for boarding at gate number Eight. I packed up my bag and made all the calls, went through security with this ticket in tow. Sitting here now, I’m lost in a crowd, alone with my thoughts and all of my doubts.

Why did this happen, what the hell went so wrong? I can make no damn sense of it, none at all. We drifted apart as life forced us to. Keeping in touch, though eventually life killed that too. We exchanged pleasantries via a card, the occasional picture of kid’s now so large. But time and life’s challenges made us all fall,like leaves on a tree as November calls. Now sadly,somehow I’m expected to be present as they put you in the ground?

It seems like yesterday, we were there. All our lives were better, we had no damn fears. Business was booming finances were great; we all lived it up and worked hard trying to build things that would last. I fondly remember how we used to laugh. I have such great memories of good times and bad, how we all talked and found ways to cope. And usually the troubles were never so bad.

I remember the trips to New Orleans and New York, your sense of adventure, and your big broad smile. How you cared for everyone and always gave of your time. You always were a true friend to anyone in need.

So I sit here befuddled how you took your own life. My friend now left with two children, but without his wife? I don’t know the circumstances of the last several years, but I could share stories of my own that would bring you to tears. Somehow we got lost, and didn’t get to talk, pride and humility carries such great cost. If this were about money and losing a job, I’m angry at the politician’s with your blood on their hands.

The concept of depression I do understand. There are days I myself fight, just to get out of bed. I just cannot wrap my mind around taking my own life.Not after witnessing sick children who have to fight. I find myself angry and wondering why you too did not fight. Your children will grow up tainted from it all. I shake my head, it just isn’t right. I add this to the mysteries I have encountered in life.

They have boarded the plane, their locking the door. The plane is taxiing down the runway, ready to soar. I sit all alone watching the sky. The terminal now empty, but I’m still inside. Crystal I’m not taking this trip, I just can’t go, for hundreds of reasons or perhaps none at all. Please understand I mean no disrespect, but I’m not going to bare witness to your fall.

So from a friend who loved you so much, I wish you the best, and say a prayer for your soul. And as I look around the now empty gate Eight, i’m again alone, except for the ghosts.

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~ by onthedarkside on January 12, 2012.

One Response to “The Ghost At Gate Eight”

  1. Kevin, you express it all so well and describe it vividly. I half expected to look up from my iPhone to see the terminal.

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