Final Farewell

It’s a sad day when you have to say a final farewell to an old friend. One day he’s there and then, wham, he’s gone. His name was Clark, not Kent; he didn’t have the legs for leaping tall buildings.

We didn’t mean to take him for granted, but he was always ready to give us a hand whenever we needed one, prepared to lighten the load and make our lives easier. I regret not letting him know how appreciated he was. He wasn’t easy to hug though, and even the tiniest kiss would have been weird.

His pain was obvious toward the end but I didn’t think the noises he made meant anything; Clark often groaned. . . . contd.

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