A Strange Goodbye

I have two memories from when I still lived in my old home town, shortly before I finally left it with my wife. It is a memory that haunts me, a memory which, when it occurred in my life, struck my being with a blow that still echos today.

The moment itself did not do this. But the reflection after he fact did it. The realization, which distilled upon me like a layer of frost, after it was too late to act upon it.

One day, stopping for lunch, I went to a local fast food place to grab something, intending to take it back to my car so I could get on with my day, eating as I drove. While inside, I found a line, and settled in to wait. As I did, an old man started a conversation with me.

He spoke of many things. His time serving in military. His time as an entrepreneur. How his wife left him because his priorities weren’t right. For my part, my interaction was polite but disconnected. I wasn’t there with any desire for social interaction. I was there for my lunch and nothing more, but I’m too kind or reserved to ask someone to stop talking to me. And so he talked.

I remember very little about his conversation, I couldn’t tell you any specific detail of his life that he shared with me, only the broad strokes of him trying to be somebody, and forgetting the people closest to him. And I remember the regret in that voice.

But he seemed happy to share. Happy to have someone to speak to. So I let him.

It was busy and it took a little time to get my food. I’ll be honest. I don’t remember if I left right away after that, or if I let him finish his thought and then excused myself. I remember being polite, and feelings slightly drained when I made it back to my vehicle.

Fast forward some time later, either a few weeks or a few month, and I was in that same fast food joint. This time I was in less of a hurry. I had ordered my food and sat down to eat, with a book in my hand.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, I heard a familiar voice from across the place. The same man from before, was standing up and addressing the whole place as though we all knew him. He was saying, in a loud enough voice for everyone to hear, ‘Goodnight every body!’ And then he left.

Something about the way he said that. Something about how he said it. The manner of addressing everyone as though we were his friends, it felt so lonely to me. Especially given the memory of the previous run in I had with him. I was trouble by it. Troubled enough that after a minute I left the restaurant to look for him.

I stood at the edge of the parking lot and look, but I didn’t see him. I looked down the sidewalks, but there was no sign of him. He was an old man with cane, he couldn’t have gotten that far, but it was possible he drove. And so, my thoughts troubled, I went to my car, finished eating and went back to my work.

And the goodbye never left me. The feelings never left me. I have had much time to think about it since, and I think I have more reason why it troubled me so much. I believe his goodbye, directed to everyone and no one in particular, may have been a final goodbye. The sort given by someone who has run out of reasons to live. Maybe that’s what drove me out to see if I could find him.

But I didn’t. I waited too long. My desire to finish my meal in peace outweighing my need to… to… I don’t know what. To see if he was alright? To ask him if he was okay so he could give me an ‘I’m fine’ and I could convince myself it was true? So I could have a believable narrative that would let me convince myself that I didn’t let a man walk to his own death because I didn’t care enough?

I remember the name he gave me in our first meeting. I tried searching for it in obituaries in the weeks the followed, trying to find proof of my feelings. I never did. It’s possible I got the spelling wrong. It’s possible he never went through with it. It’s possible no one cared enough. I don’t know.

It was a strange goodbye. I remember him, but even now it’s fuzzy. His face not as distinct. The memory of his voice not as sharp. Why he drove so deeply into my memory, I don’t truly know.

I hope I don’t forget him. I want to remember. I want to remember what it felt like to let someone down, so that hopefully, next time, I don’t wait as long to get up and check. I want to care.

These memories haunt me. The thought that that lonely man told me his story and I didn’t care enough to remember, haunts me.

But then again, I have a hard time remembering things that I do care about. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe he was just saying good bye to everyone. Maybe he was a regular. My the feelings in my heart was just lies.

Somehow I don’t think so.

And so, I want to do better. I want to be better. I want to care