The first man I ever knew from Australia was not a man missing half his body. He was a man without a face, some random person on the internet with a profile picture that included his torso (covered in tattoos) but no head.
I met the man on a fitness website. BODYBUILDING.COM I was on the site because I was trying to promote myself as a writer. The response I got was huge. It wasn’t long before letter after letter began arriving in my inbox. There were a lot of people who had thoughts about my writing. He was one of them.
The man I knew from Australia was not a happy person. He had lived a terrible life before he died. He sent me this message on his last day on earth.
“From Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty,” he wrote, ““I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home …”
the end
There were only two people who attended his funeral. I was not surprised to hear that no one came to pay respect to him. He made it clear that he was not pleasant. He was not even nice to me. I saved his emails. This is one of them. It was the first that helped me understand why he hated himself so severly. He wrote about one of my blogs.
I thought of my friend in Australia today. I thought about him after getting a message from another friend I do not know, the same kind of friend who has known a hard life, a friend who is feeling hopeless. I thought about how the dead can inspire the living to live. My friend in Australia died of a brain tumor. He lived through hell to finally and at last make a reasonable life for himself only to learn that he was going to die. He was angry when he died. I think it was the first time in his whole life that he realized that he wanted to live all along. Then it was too late. He was angry about that for sure.


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