Imagine your life as an arena.

I imagine it as everyone looking at what's happening on a track, and there being one runner. Everyone can see the runner, when she stops to rest, when she jumps the hurdles, when she sprints or slows down to walk. They can see when she is tired. They can see she runs alone, but she constantly scans the arena, seeking familiar faces, encouragement and direction from the stands. Sometimes the people in the arena have a better perspective on matters than the runner.

The people in the stands can move about the arena, but if they leave . . . there's an empty seat that nobody else can fill. If the one who left was sitting way up at the top of the stands, the runner may never miss that person; she may never notice the empty seat because she didn't know that person was watching. But if the one who leaves was sitting in the lower decks, low enough where the runner can see him clearly, if the runner was able read the expressions on the face of that spectator, when he leaves his seat empty, he is sorely missed. Over time the runner will learn to look to other faces for encouragement and direction, but that empty seat will still be there to remind her that someone is missing.

Somehow, it hurts less to know someone you used to call friend isn't gone, he's just way the heck up there in the cheap seats. Well, I've got these seats, down here on a lower deck and I think I'll just mark them "saved for Mr. and Mrs. J. Reb" You know, incase the occasion ever arises where they need a closer look.