We didn’t start talking until I put some food down in front of him. The old look on his face was familiar, and was even more distressing to me than his new wounds. After I told him I was engaged the look faded. When he was finished eating it seemed that it took him all the strength in his body to lift himself from my couch and make his way to the door. He turned to salute me as he left, a chipper gesture he’d retained since I’d first met him. I tried not to look at him as he left, seeing his old face come waltzing out of my past had done a number on me. But even with us both averting eye contact, I’m fairly sure we each knew the other was crying.