Before she can knock, the door opens.
We’re greeted quietly with long hugs and closed smiles.
It’s crisp today. The weather feels fitting of saying goodbye.
I’m not sure where to put my gifts, but he’s taking our trucks.
I can see my friend on the floor in the living room, resting on a pallet of blankets.
Afraid to approach, I wait for the others.
As they sit, I can finally see what she was saying.
He always had a natural bounce to his spirit, but now only his skin is light.
The door shuts, and we begin back home next door.
She asks, “are you ok?”
“Where will he go?”
“He’ll be buried into the ground.”
“Will that make him better?”
“No, bubba. I’m sorry.”
She opens our door and bends down to hug me.
“I love you, baby boy.”