farewell

You left quietly on this clear and cold autumn evening.  I was afraid you were going to be alone in your final days, but you found a couple of good souls who helped you through the last couple of years of your life.  I am happy about that.  And relieved.

When we parted ways it was not in the best of terms.  It was two years ago.  Back then I concluded that you were a prisoner to your ostentatious lifestyle.  Back then I decided that it was too late for you to change; that you were too stubborn to listen to all the well-meaning advice coming from all your friends around you.

You pushed us all away by being stubborn and wanting to run your life your way, even if it could mean a surer path to the inevitable.  That was what I believed all this time.

Until tonight.

Never once did I think that your bullheadedness and obstinacy directed at us could also have been your way of pushing back against this invisible enemy within your body.  "This is me.  This is how I have always been.  I will not let you change anything in my life."  What I thought was incredible irresponsibility could have been your way of rebelling against your disease.  Or a desperate attemt at regaining control over a life turned upside down.

When things got really bad at one point and we urged you to fly home to be with your family, you said you wouldn't go.  "I don't want them to see me like this," was your simple response.  Later, on several occasions, you would tell me the same thing, "I don't want you to see me like this."

So tonight, I declined an invitation from another friend to visit you at the hospice, knowing that today could very well be your last.  I would rather remember you as how you were back when you were whole, not like this.

Farewell, Troy.