I was about to finally meet him - the legendary pilot I heard so much about.
The one to pilot F-16 soon.
And so many other living legends.
"But I'm out of town," I said back to the invitation.
"We'll arrange something next time" they said.
We even discussed the date.
And then, today, I received a text.
“Juice died today”
As if someone kicked me in my chest.
As if my skin started burning.
I started blaming myself.
That I hadn’t a way.
That I wasn't there.
I beat myself up.
Then - just for a second - I stopped.
That’s when the tears broke through.
I started sobbing, right in the middle of the street.
It was when I realized that all of this was just an attempt
to feel at least some kind of control over all this horror
as if the only problem was whether I made it to that meet-up
an attempt not to feel all this sadness
this endless sadness
Because Juice and his two comrades are dead.
Because we are losing more of those the best of us
because there is one more next time that’s never gonna happen
It was too much
but somehow, I didn't try to numb it
with texts, or alcohol, or calls
with something
today, I am just letting it ache.
I'm so sorry for your loss. Not only this one loss, but for all of them.
Juice was one of the first (or maybe the first) Ukrainian fighter I saw interviewed in foreign media early on. He sounded like a good man, and I was very sad to hear of his passing. I wish you had gotten to meet him.