Spilt Wine

Today was uncommonly cool and windy. Cumulus clouds drifted across the sky while thunderstorm clouds stayed breached atop of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. Within the first thirty minutes of work, I was told that a supervisor within our department had passed away this morning. An uncharacteristic announcement on an uncharacteristic day. He had been diagnosis with stage-four lung cancer about six weeks ago and today he expired. I really liked him and looked up to him. As the day progressed, I found myself listening to the voice of life. Death awakens that sense within you. I broke up a fight during the high school lunch hour and a red bloodstain on my shirt screamed “I am hateful”. During the extraction of a suicidal teen with a gun, I watched a life placed in jeopardy as a shotgun and two handguns were pointed at his head. As I helped him to his feet, I physically felt his pain bleed unto me through his self-inflected cuts. They cried “I hurt”. And at the end of the day, after the junior high graduation ceremony, a student asked if I could take a picture with him while he was dressed in his cap and gown. No blood this time, but I did hear his life proclaim “ I am happy”.