The Death of a Stranger

Train done gone.

The mind is a precious thing. Never is such a fact more obvious than when it starts to shutdown. Memory. Function. Relations. Those who loved the person are eventually forced to love a stranger. It doesn’t matter what the sickness is…the diagnosis for the remnant is heartbreak. The journey doesn’t stop with death. If so, one would be able to simply let the person go. In fact death is a further affliction for the survivors, because one is left to the storm of their own memories. Do I remember the person before the stranger? Did I love the stranger? Did the stranger love me? The stranger captures the mind and refuses to let it go. The questions are suffocating and there are always more to be asked. The stranger haunts you. Until, strange is your home and strange is the only path forward.

I remember the first time she forgot me. I’d lived many places over the years. I guess I’m a vagabond of sorts. Regardless, I called her on my birthday. I knew that she might not remember this year. I was surprised when she didn’t even know who I was. It was stranger than strange. Throughout my life, she had been the drum major of celebrations. How could she forget? Though she was oblivious, pain crept into our relationship. It’s difficult to be around those who cause you pain. It’s even stranger to want to be around them.

Have you ever seen someone hopelessly chasing a train or plane or bus that’s already departed? We are the runners…chasing something that is no longer there.

The shit.

The falls.

The choking.

The sleeping.

The anger.

The eyes.

The mumbling.

The stranger.

Amen.