People say they're your friend, that they'll be there for you when you need someone to talk to.  But they're not.  I have always been a good friend; always there to be a shoulder, an ear, a friend, a support.  Fuck it.  We're born alone, we die alone.  I have my kids and my creatures.  That's all I need.  The rest, I do alone.

     I had a very good friend for many years.  His name was Fausto.  Fausto was a vibrant, funny, wonderful man that I had met when I was sitting on the porch one day and he was walking his dog.  We hit it off and he very quickly became part of my family.  He would have dinner with us, come over to talk and watch movies, just hang out, and play with my kids who were little when we first met.  Fausto and my husband became good friends, too.  About 6 years ago, Fausto started to have some significant psych issues in his life.  He became a different person, through no fault of his own.  He started drifting away, but he always knew that I was never far away and always available to listen and to help if I could.  One day, he came over when I was home alone with the kids and needed something from me that was out of the scope of what I was willing to do to help.  When I refused, he threatened me and my kids.  It was at that point that I knew he wasn't coming to my home again unless he got some help.  I didn't hear from him for several months.  One day, his mom showed up at my home to tell me that Fausto was very ill and asking for me.  Of course I went to see him.  When I got to the hospital, there was my friend.  He was blind, had paralysis on the left side of his body, and was confused, at times.  When I told him that I was there, he became very angry and told me to leave and never come back.  I came back.  The same thing happened.  His mom told me she would let me know when to come back.  She never called me.  I ran into a girlfriend a couple of months later who told me he had died.  I've always felt to bad that I never was able to say good-bye.

     Today, my oldest son and I were at Hair Cuttery.  A man sat down in the chair to the right of me.  While I was getting my hair cut, he said to me "I know you."  I turned to see who it was and it was Fausto.  All I could do was cry.  He turned away from me as if he didn't recognize that I had started to cry.  I had to get my thoughts back because here was my friend who I had thought was gone from this world.  He stood when he was done and I was done at the same time.  He looked at me again and said "I know you."  It was then that I saw that he was still paralyzed on his left side and was struggling to maintain his balance.  Fausto said again "I know you."  I said to him, "Fausto, it's me, Renee."  He said, "Pretty name.  I know you."   I realized that whatever illness he had took part of his brain, too.  My wonderful, vibrant, funny friend is now brain damaged.  He knew that he recognized my face, but had no idea who I was.  He patted my arm and walked away.  While my son was getting his hair cut, Fausto kept looking at me and saying "I know you", but even with my name, he couldn't remember why he knew me.  As he was leaving with the person that had brought him, he patted my arm again and we said good-bye.  I never had a chance to say good-bye before.  Today I did.  I have wonderful memories of the time we had together.  It is my hope that somewhere in his damaged brain, Fausto, even though he can't remember me, has a feeling of a good memory from long ago and that he knows that he will always have a place in my heart.