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“Man, you lost two damned fingers, not your hat. They’re… fuck, I dunno, a part of you, maybe? You’re allowed to miss them. Hell, you’re even allowed to call them Smith and Wesson and mourn them and come to terms with the fact that they’re in some of these things’ stomachs instead of just touching there. Which, if you forgot, or as you’re ignoring, won’t help you.”
Then he just goes and asks Roland who he is one day, out of mere exasperation and feeling like his stomach has been turned inside out, and the answer is your destiny and it’s fucking terrifying.