In Memory of Nate

Play Mate
(for nate)
April 5, 2005
(c) 2004 tim'm t. west/red dirt publishing

I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends
soft as it began,-
I loved my friend"

- Langston Hughes


he could have left us another way
the unfortunate news coming
like a rumor or "guess what?"
but it came like a sign
something larger than life itself
and left an impression
of what we should never again
take for granted
the precious breath of life
a simple game
we choose to play or not
as he played
till there was no breath left

it could have come in an email
or newspaper clipping...
or channel 9 news
but we were fortunate enough
to be there
angels around him
and watching over us
loving him enough to encourage
next breaths
hold his hand
and selfishly hope
like we've never hoped before
that it was not his time to leave us

so perhaps the creator chooses
the time
the place
chose us to be there
joyous moments
of love and basketball
and the smile we should never forget
in the moments before...

perhaps we were chosen
to be students
for lessons he so unselfishly taught
through his actions:
sitting out so we could play,
encouraging from the side lines,
planning moments beyond the court
for fellowship and support,
or the way he played
through pain in the knee
because we simply insisted
because we were comfortable admitting
we needed him.

next up
is someone who has been waiting
to play
but cautiously,
and without pride, courage
or confidence
that this game is meant for them to play
and he remains their guide
and mine and ours
fixed in our memories and hearts
the inspiration for life's next moves.
so we can choose to play
or stay stuck
refusing to get the point

without question
continuing to play this game of life
is what our friend
would deem a win, a victory,
a full smile
hearty as a Charleston Sunday dinner
strong as arms and backs that
rebound
over and again
knowing that our lives
much like our friend's
offers not many play mates
more precious.