David Yankey. You can’t leave now. The meeting is not over.
It finally hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. As I drove away after dropping my daughter at school and headed to office.
He is not going to be there. I will not see him. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Howmuchever I loiter around his cubicle.
I was able to block away the thought of he having died the whole of yesterday. I kept reminding myself about how I walked up to his cubicle to wish him a happy birthday just a few weeks back.
Staring at the road waiting at the traffic light with dawn barely breaking, I realized that his wife will soon be on the road like me – dropping their kid or grocery shopping – and realizing that he will not be home when she went back. Not that day. Not the next day. Not ever.
Remembering how my daughter told me “I will see you in the evening” before she trotted off to school, I realized there is not going be any such evening for his three kids. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not ever.
It is the finality of death that quashes all hopes of being ever together – even for a fleeting moment. And it is that snatching away of any hope of being together that I cannot ever deal with.
I am the guy who is still looking for his friends who crossed his path 40 years back.
He crossed my path barely a few days back.
If only – if only – I was given one more “intersection point”, this is what I would say-
“Teach me how to be humble like you, teach me how to always smile like you, teach me how to be a great father like you”.
God, I miss you, David Yankey.