Excerpt
This is how you die. Not in a big fireball or a valiant attempt at saving innocent lives or being a monster that unleashes bloody havok on the world... no, you die in inches. Each day another little bit of your life slips away and you are too busy to notice it. You don't die all at once - you die a little bit more every day and your life suffocates you.

When the plane landed in Seattle it was raining. Cold, wet, grey... it was fitting for a day that brought me to the opposite coast to bury a friend. To see his face for the last time before the lid of his coffin was lowered and his body covered with dirt. The plane was on time - that only happens when you aren't in a hurry. It always seems that when you aren't looking forward to the destination that every little thing conspires to hurry you to that destination even faster.

I walked to the baggage claim. Picked up my luggage and walked to the taxi service and gave them an address. The taxi driver drove and babbled about the weather and I think I responded normally. I don't know and I don't care. Jim is gone and he isn't coming back.