My friend, I cannot watch you, miles away, intubated, awash with medicine, cordoned amid a hush of mechanical saviors. I cannot sing with you, your unabashed heart brimming with life in dark nights of karaōke and root beer. I would rather have offered parts of my body, to keep you encompassed among us. As I live, as I die, I would rather have you piecemeal than not at all. I could pluck my beard, cry out in the wilderness, I could burn a blessed candle and offer your pain to God. But, I respect your unbelief and though this means I cannot pray for you, but, my friend, I will stand with you and hope.