I have an ongoing relationship with Satire. A kind of 'well you can't choose your family' relationship. Which is fine, so long as I keep him to myself and chose not to share his perspective too often. Satire, I've learned, is best applied to matters of a political or sociological nature. Not really appropriate for matters of the heart and soul.
Trouble is, Satire is a quite indiscriminate... I can't shut him up.
And so, as I find myself explaining that I lost my friend last Tuesday, I inwardly cringe at the familiar voice that tells me how VERY careless I must have been, to actually LOSE a friend, in THIS day and age where mobile communication is EVERYWHERE.
Whilst my kin continues to emphasise the absurdity of a whole genre of 'death euphemisms', my listener is looking questioningly at me, poised to offer condolences, dewy eyed as I further explain the tragic circumstances of my friend's death.
And they were tragic. A sudden accident, and the young man who helped me through some really tough years of my life is gone.
Just like that. (I know... I know... I hear Tommy Cooper too)
The news broke over me just like canvas on a tent frame. All in a moment the world was muted and time passed unnoticed.
I stayed in the tent for a few days. The thoughts almost entirely about him and the family he leaves behind. I could hear the noise outside, the people's laughter, other news, frank discussions but none of it seemed relevant.

Sitting there, I think random thoughts.

  • First: how am I supposed to 'be'? - Is my reaction 'normal'? Do my meds keep me numb?
  • Second: How can the world just... carry on? Why doesn't everyone know?
  • Third: My grief isn't allowed because in the wake of the enormous loss his wife and children are facing, my own is so pathetic
  • Fourth: I live some way away. How do I support them? How can I help my god-daughter?
  • Fifth: Sadness and grief are not the same thing. Sadness is only one part of grief
  • How fast death can sweep life away. How precious life is while we have it
It's helpful to make this concrete. Writing it is easier than I thought.
This is the sort of post that might finish with one of those cloying one liners you see stitched on cushions and stencilled on laminate... Vintage schmaltz on distressed furniture.  I'm angry at death for being so cruel. My faith affords me the certainty that my friend is in a FAR better place, and it IS a small comfort. But my heart is definitely a little broken and as always with these things, Satire's hand ensures I go spiky above sorry.
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