My Old Friend

    He stops by to talk sometimes.  But he never has time to stay for long.  Many fear my old friend, but each time I welcome him with open arms.  We have met a few times before. But even the first time he seemed to know me as well I knew myself.

The first time we met he stayed for a while, sitting by my bed, watching, waiting.  I looked at him with little fear, and a lot acceptance.  I had pity for him: no one ever showed him kindness, when he came all the others must have asked about themselves, and I could see that had its toll.  I sat silent waiting for him to show me which way to go, but instead he smiled, and told me that I was not yet ready, there was still much for me to do.  He spoke like an old man.  The oldest of old men.  He spoke having known every language, and having learned them each when they were new.  

After that he came to visit a few years later, but only for an instant.  An instant but an hour for him.  We didn’t bother exchanging pleasantries.  We never do.  He sat in my backseat next to my friend, though my young friend could not see my old one.  He said turn left, so I did.  And after I caught my breath, he told me I still had much to do, like he always seems to, he waved me goodbye smiling.  Few ever see his smile, fewer understand it.  

It’s not the kind of smile that shows happiness, or contentment.  It’s the kind of smile you give a child who has done something cute.  It’s a smile that shows pride, but also a knowledge of the pain that the other is going to face.  He has met every great person in the end, and he has had many friends.  So why did I deserve his smile.  

He came again one day this time sitting in my passenger seat.  Relax he said, and I did.  He told me that pain was coming.  Like a fool I told him I was ready.  He told me that there was still things for me to do, gave me a quick embrace, and then was gone.  Though we all have felt his embrace, none will ever realize its purpose, and few feel it’s comfort.

If pressed for why his embrace gave me comfort I would have to say it had a form of cleansing.  Not a purity, but a way of purifying. It takes away the things you have done, or are about to do.

I didn’t realize then the pain he meant was not just physical.  And it wasn’t until so much later that I saw how not ready I was.  

As a young man I was told about this old friend of mine.  I was told his power was fear, and that he was the only true enemy.  I was told not to fear him though, because that would beckon him faster.  I was told to respect him, but not fear him.  Because if you don’t fear him, you have no fear.  But when he came to see me that first time I felt nothing but pity, perhaps that is why he decided I must go on.  Perhaps that is why he seems to like me so.

After our car ride he came to see me a couple of times in the following weeks.  Each time short, and each time a true surprise.  He stood on the sidewalk and waved.  It wasn’t for months that I finally understood why he came those times.  He knew my pity but felt his own.  He already knew the pain that I would feel.  The pain I felt because he decided not to take me the first time we met.  But he knew that this all should happen.  For reasons I will never understand all of this HAS to happen.  I used to think he was warning me, but I think now that he came to give his condolences, and maybe his own form of support.

I find that when I am at my saddest I miss him, and wish to go with him this time.  But I always remember that he smiled, and that embrace he gave.  And I know that my time will come.  But I also know he waits to congratulate me when I am done.  I don’t know what strength, or virtue he saw on that first visit.  But I do know that when he comes for the last time I will welcome him, my old friend, the same way I always have.