When days grow short

Sands slip through...feelings began to meander...thoughts became an unpaved road that end without ending...

I'm at arm's length, but I can't help but be filled with wonder: what's going through this mind?  Not what he'll tell me, but what actually is going on in there.  We're in the airport taking what could very well be his last flight.  He's in "fine spirits" for someone who ripped open a tea bag all over the table (for reasons we can't quite place) and later spit up a portion of his lunch.  He then offered up one of his tacos (from the same plate) because he "hadn't touched it."  I politely declined, appetite long gone.

All senses are go in a location like this, but I'm getting nothing in return.  I offer comforting small talk.  Half-smiles, even a look my way.  Minutes later, I'm asked if I just spoke about...well, what I spoke about.  I agree.  He nods.

Once landed, it's an avalanche for him:  He says little, letting the squawking wash over him.  Moving, already complicated, is met with disagreement or a dismissive wave of the hand.  Dinner is a mild complication, as it is these days, but once it's served, ends are met.  I decide to give him space, something he isn't getting much of today.  A few attempts to make conversation don't work.  It's shrugged off.

You learn a lot in situations like this, it's true.  Not only about how to deal in and with such situations, but about yourself.  It seems far off, but I've been writing on this screed for 11 years.  That means I'm over a decade older and you start to see halftime, if you will.  What's your endgame plan?  How do you plan on running out the clock in certain victory?  How much will you let your assistant coaches do at the time?  I've seen bad clock management in life.  I don't wish it on anyone. 

We'll meet again, in a week or so, and if I see happiness, that's a win.  If it looks like stoicism, I'll hope that's what it is; when you can't keep up, how do you respond?