It was going to be a good day today. I was singing in the car. I was singing in the car in Spanish!
But David died. He died last night. They say it was a heart attack, an infarto.
He wasn't old. Fifty years at the most. We ate breakfast together, most Fridays since July. That was 9 months ago, when we first met. He said he was ready and willing to work, whatever and whenever needed. He was a painter.
He had a wife. A couple kids. He'd been kicked out of his house, but eventually earned his way back in. Every now and then he'd cry talking about his family, and how he was letting them down.
He wanted me to know he wore sunglasses because his eyes were always bloodshot, not because he was drunk but because of an eye injury a while back.
I can't remember him really ever being drunk. Almost always drinking, but not drunk.
But David died. He died last night.
There was a few months in there where I didn't see David. I ran into him on the street a little while later, and he told me he was 3 weeks sober. I told him I wanted to have lunch with him to celebrate. We never did. But he was back at breakfasts on Fridays before long.
His dad came home from the states gave David some work to do around the house. He said that was a good thing for him. He was a painter. He was respectful. He was kind. He was willing to help. He was willing to talk. He knew God. He was under the thumb of Quetzalteca corn liquor. He knew he needed to change, and he tried to. He asked me to pray for that.
But David died. He died last night.
I feel the weight today. The weight of the fragile life. The weight of trying and not succeeding. The weight of vice devouring man. The weight of the cage of alcoholism. The weight of unrealized dreams. The weight of poverty. The weight of unemployment. The weight of not knowing for certain if he's spending eternity with Christ or eternity in torment. I can't judge a heart, but he was humble, and he knew his need for Christ's mercy more than many of my church-going friends.
God is just, God is merciful, and he works things for our good and our for His glory. I trust that.
I feel the weight and it freezes me. It makes me stare into nothing. It makes me ask questions without answers. It makes my mind flash back. It makes me pick my fingernails. I feel the weight and it hurts.
I feel the weight of losing a friend. He was a friend to me.
We'll keep a stump empty for you at breakfast this Friday, David.