Bittersweet

I had a friend die on Thursday. He was an older gentleman, who grew up riding horses and wrangling cattle in Montana and other non-California states. He was a fine example of a man - but I don't know for certain if he was ready to go. His wife was always so glad when I would come over to see him, and I must admit I should have done it more. He was glad to - there certainly was nothing stopping me from doing it far more often than I did.

But he's gone now, and I have no more chances to say anything to him him in this life.

I weep not because he has been released from his body which was letting him down, nor that he is no longer dependent upon others - something he disliked immensely. No, I have been weeping because I think I could have done more to help him with eternity. Now I have all the great things to say, but nobody to say them to. I missed my chance, and it means more than just not showing up for an appointment. I may have to bear this one for the rest of my life.