I’ll talk about myself until the sun sets, rises, and sets again. But when talking of someone else, I am hesitant. Even more so when death is involved. I have wondered if I should put this post behind the password wall. Or even if I should post it publicly at all. The identity of the other person has been scrubbed. But I can’t leave him out of my words entirely. His death has had a direct impact on the person I have emerged to be today.
About nine years ago, I held the hand of a man as he died. A domestic dispute had spiraled out of control, and he was stabbed at least 28 times. He crashed into my neighbor’s yard as he tried to get help. At the sound of the crash I was calling 911, and I know many of my neighbors did the same. But he died before the medics arrived, holding my hand.