Today was a very strange day.

It began OK. With a semi-unorganized meeting about futures for our product. At lunchtime, I played some Fiat, and just before the first dice roll I had this sudden flash of fear, started to wish for a better roll, decided I was too rational to do such a thing, and then said, "Oh, shit." It was an infernal intervention, three sixes in one roll, and meant that something really bad was going to happen.

In the game, what happened was that one of Sephar's hosts died. Badly. It was also nearly instantaneous, and there was nothing that he could do to prevent it. It was entirely within the realm of the roll and the role. So no complaints here.

The afternoon was fairly unproductive for me. There were also some disconnects in communication with the INFOS game. So it just didn't happen. Which was somewhat disappointing, as I look forward to Sean's games.

The evening was even more strange and confuse, in some ways. There were many bright spots as well, but also many odd disconnects and misses. Just getting out of the office took quite a lot of effort, and communication over exactly what we had to do before we got to Crossroads didn't quite happen. So we were about half an hour late by the time we actually got there. John's parents were waiting for us, and we got food fairly quickly, and watched for Regis as we ate.

We didn't really see her throughout the meal. So, after we were done, I took another pass through the entire food court. I found her that time in a place that was fairly obvious. I have no idea how we managed to miss each other, but we did. The good thing once that we did find each other before leaving for the movie.

The movie was Mulan again. It was as good the second time as it was the first, though in different ways. The second time through I paid more attention to the timing and layout of the film and how the plot was enhanced by the timing of certain scenes. Regis enjoyed it a lot, and I could hear Isabel wheee'ing and whooping it up on the other side of John. After the movie everyone said that they enjoyed it as well, so it was good to know that it appealed to others as well.

We said goodbye to Regis outside the theater, as the Rostyki had something they needed to tell John then I.

That's when they told us that a friend of theirs and ours from the church had taken his own life that morning. He was a contemporary of John's parents, and John had known him since John was a child in the church. The four of us stood outside the theater, and hugged tight into a knot of quiet grief. It helped John's parents quite a lot, and while the news was hard to tell, they really need to tell us. So we stood and supported and talked through some of the particulars of the grief that the rest of the congregation was going through. The friend had been one of the founders of the church that we all went to.

Eventually, we parted. They walked to their car on the far side of the theater, while John and I walked back towards the food court to find ours. As we got around the theater we saw a rainbow, nearly three-quarters of the circle to the East, as the sun was setting amid a long, flat, silver sheet of clouds. The colors of the rainbow had a gold tinge to them from the setting sun, and what we couldn't see was that it was set in a rainstorm that was headed our way.

John was in shock. I wasn't sure if I should distract him, or just let him express it and let it go. So I tried the first, by taking him into the local QFC and finding some dessert for the two of us. We got some cheesecake, and headed back for the car. The rain started falling on us, so gently, as we walked. By the time got into the car, it began to fall harder.

I drove. The sky darkened, and the rain started to sheet down. John started to cry.

I retreated into my own thoughts, giving him the room and some small encouragement to keep expressing his feelings and getting it out. "Those who mourn will be comforted." We also talked through some of our memories of the funny, creative, and kind man that we had known. It helped him work through all the things that were inside.

Sometimes I wonder about being an introvert. There is something about always turning inward that keeps me at a distance from all other people. Often it feels as if I'm just watching everyone else, but it also disconnects me from this kind of pain. I'm not sure that's a good thing, especially since I couldn't bring up much emotion about the news. I really liked the guy, but didn't have nearly as much dealing with him as the other Rostyki did. So it could be rationalized in that way. I also knew him as a very good engineer, and there was some medical history that indicated a tendency towards this outcome.

All the Rostyki were fairly sure that in his mind he had a good reason for doing what he did. They all mourned his loss nonetheless. I will miss him. I guess I just expected more pain. Especially since, in the past, I've been so emotionally adamant about the pain and selfishness of suicide. I guess in the years since I've banged that drum so much I broke it and may well never get it back.

As it was, we dealt. We watched some stupid movie on the TV, ate our desserts, and went to sleep.

It's been a long time since I was glad, so very glad, of the break between days that sleep is. The turning of the page to a new one, and getting to write something else.

Someone asked me today if my pages on faith actually meant that I was of the opinion that people should meet death by being ready for it and comfortable with its coming. I do write about people who are like that, as I've experienced them. I fear, however, that I will emulate one of Zelazny's characters, who will rage at the coming storm until it swallowed them. I will not go quietly. There's too much to do, too much to explore, and far, far too much that I wish still to create for me to go with anything but a complete fight. Even one solid look at how I tackled my knee injury would give some indication of how I would tackle, with all the resources at my beck and call, any life-threatening situation. And I would squeeze every last second of every bit of life I could get.

But that's how I've always been built. Period