I’ve seen a man crying; he was broken – not weak. He was no coward and had no flaws in actions oblique. He walked the steps of his downfall with head held high, and the pride of knowing he was a good man while choosing to die.

The tears streamed down as he fought so hard for a resolute decision that would leave his little girl scarred.

His best friend pleaded, “It’s okay for you to go. Just do it for life. That’s all I need to know.”

“I can’t,” he whispered with mournful steadfastness, “There’s no way to go without entering that big, dark vastness. I’m tired and wore out. The pain is so hard. My family is over. Their future is the only thing I have left that I must safeguard. I have one way to see them through this world, but I can’t see them again. I can feel the truth run through me, I’ll die of this chest pain. I’ll do it the right way. No gore in sight. I’ll find a good spot; the moon is powerful tonight. Just like a dog, it’ll be merciful. No suffering. Then the family can heal. You’ll be their comforting.”

“I understand,” I said with matching tears forced by torn heartstrings. The beautiful man would go. He’d ride one last time on his Harley wings. I’d hold those who love him through their pain. He trusted me to do that despite the strain.

My last act of friendship was to let that friendship die. His last act was more tender as he embraced me goodbye. I loved that man every moment he let me and will continue to do so, though his soul be set free.