A Fitting Goodbye

Late November, it's just after Midnight. I've been home from work for over two hours. Despite having unwound from work and being off tomorrow, I'm restless. These things I'm feeling, I know them well. I know I can go toss and turn in bed or go burn off this abundent energy. I'm a wanderer by nature and now the night beckons me into its embrace. Stepping outside and looking skyward, I'm enveloped by an unusual clear, warm, late November night. My familiar friends of night, the stars, the constellations and a sliver of moon great my emergence. After a few moments reacquainting myself with these old friends, my mind casts itself back to another old, lost, friend. I've always loved night, it is still and quiet. The time of predators and prey. Every movement at night has consequences, why you move, how you move, when you move, it all means something at night. My lost friend knew that too.

More feral than domesticated, he loved night as well. Often, I would let him out at night and follow him around. He little needed my protection, he'd been in plenty of scraps during nights when he had snuck out. He was getting older now though and had no business trying to maintain a territory as large as his attitude demanded. Most nights were quick 15 minute jaunts of him visiting his prominent points, before I'd drag him back in against his will. Other nights, I would get caught up into the balance of the affair. Following along, engaged in his activities, moving from point to point on our hunt. Senses all set on full alert, an hour or more we might hunt. Into the ink exploring carefully and deliberately. As time passed and he grew undeniably old, his attempts at sneaking out became rare, until one night, he made his final successful escape.

I was working on my bicycle, when I felt the unmistakable feeling of eyes in the darkness watching me. With the creepy feeling of eyes trained on me I turned towards the window. There he was peering back. Illuminated only by the escaping florescent lights he was soaking wet. His body langauge exposed just how cold the rain was, he looked miserable. I bolted outside and scooped up my 9 pound friend. Wrapping him up in a towel, I let him clean himself up by a heating vent. After that night he stopped trying to sneak out. His only night hunts after that, were those in my company. He finally came to tolerate, if not appreciate that some trade off of his independence would be necessary.

More time passed and our hunts became increasingly rare, as he no longer had the vigor for them. Eventually the day came. I knew the time was at hand. Every action of his was labored. Even a trip to his food dish would require rest stops to cover the short distance. I was sure this would be the night. I stayed up with him and held him close for a long time, gently scratching his head and saying my goodbyes. After a substantial time he crawled away from me to his bed. He made a few more trips to his food dish, me in tow for each. After a small nibble of Thanksgiving turkey, I'd carry him back to his bed. In the quietest part of the night, I started to slip off to sleep. I was vaguely aware of his trip towards the kitchen and after some time I realized he'd been gone too long.

I snapped awake and chased after him into the kitchen, he wasn't to be found. Proceeding down the stairs, I turned the corner and found his body. Punched in the gut, I collapsed to a knee, my fist resting on the ground and my head held low. The tears took a minute. As they started very deep, from a place so deep within my soul that I didn't know it existed until that moment. The initial ones were pulled out of me like deep tree roots being torn from the ground one at a time. Once set free though, they flowed easily. That night, I put my friend in a box, dug his grave, placed my hands on him for the final time, and buried him in the ground.

When his time came, he wanted to be alone. He wanted to choose his place to die, he died as he lived, a beautiful, untamed, independent soul. I only hope to have so much courage when my time comes. Most folks prefer to spend night asleep, comfortable and warm in their beds. Oblivious to what lurks in the dark. They turn on lights to chase the darkness into the corners. Night is the epitome of our fears, it is the unknown, it is primal. My friend knew that all that really lurks in the darkness is fear and it can be overcome. It is how we face our fears and the choices we make in the face of them that determines what our lives will be.

Now almost two years to the day, standing under the stars with my friend buried not far away, placed in his grave by my own hands, I was overwhelmed. Too many feelings, too many memories. This warm night inviting me into its embrace, offering comfort to my pained and restless soul. I knew a motorcycle ride was in order, a tribute to my friend and I'd ride as he had lived. I set out alone into the darkness. Entering the highway, for nearly an hour my speed never dropped below triple digits. The fear of the speed and the things in the darkness and the creeping cold, finally overcame the splinters in my soul. I'd paid tribute to my friend in the only way I knew how. An independent sojourn through the darkness perched perilously close to the dangers of the unknown.