To The Edge of The World (third letter)

Have you heard of Robert Dziekanski?
Did he get to you somehow during those ten hours at the Vancouver International Airport? What could you have revealed to him if he did?
Poland was too small for Robert without his mother around. He kept notes on countries he hadn’t visited yet. He collected lists of capitals and drawings of flags.
I often think you are right beside me, that I’ll trip up and fall into your mysterious domain, that I’ll blink and see I am suddenly with you — just as I imagine Robert did after getting off the plane. It can happen to anybody.
It’s not your doing. Exile is a death sentence in a world made up of other people’s property. They’ve squeezed you out. Now you’re everywhere and no place.
There were no instructions to follow. No one could see Robert for who he was. He was suddenly on the wrong side of a terrifying border. Did he reach you then — just for an instant? Apparently he couldn’t stand the automatic doors opening and closing and tried to keep them apart with airport furniture. It was then that the RCMP killed him.
His mother had already gone home thinking he hadn’t made the trip. There was no justice. You marked him despite yourself.