My brother was a stocky man. Short arms. Mom figured he might have got "just a touch of the Polio". At the end he had white hair and a beard to match.
Some days I see men who are stocky, have white hair, thick and straight, shot with black, walking down the street. They have a beard and are wearing tidy comfortable clothes, Engineer guy clothes. Sometimes they're by themselves, but usually they're talking to someone as they're walking down the street. I'll see these men; the men that look like my brother, and note the resemblance. Often they'll nod or smile at me, the stranger they're passing; acknowledgment with a friendly goodwill.
When my brother first died I saw these men, the men that looked like him, just about every week for about a year. Then I noticed one day I hadn't seen my brother for quite some time.
"Gone", I thought sadly for a moment and went on.
on one of those particularly bad days
I saw my brother all over town.