Raise a glass to a beautiful memory
One appendix down and anaesthetic FINALLY wearing off I can now actually sit down and think about writing again. Up until this point it has felt impossible to stare at a screen and think in complete sentences but 5 day on after the operation and I am feeling a little more human, one organ lighter and willing to give this writing thing a red hot go.
Being in hospital was interesting.
I arrived there at around 3:30am on Sunday morning and was admitted into a ward around 5am and then slept a few hours until the doctors arrived to begin their long day of poking and prodding the temporary tenants.
The funny thing with hospitals is that time doesn’t seem to work the same as it does in other places. THAT or the nurses take great joy in changing the clocks as you nap just to fuck with you.
I’m not a person who can nap throughout the day but when I was in hospital it felt impossible to stay awake so I just spent my time napping. Sometimes I would wake up and only 10 minutes had passed, sometime I would awake to find that I had slept away the past 2 hours of my life, I ALWAYS awoke to find that I had to pee. Those bags of saline connected to your arm will do that to you.
It’s like someone has a remote to your life and they are fast forwarding through, pausing and rewinding for their own amusement, the days seem long and yet… short. I know that doesn’t make sense but that’s the paradox of hospitals, time isn’t a straight line there, it’s more of a… “big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey… stuff” (YES! had to do it, sorry).
I got out of hospital on Monday and since then time has not become any easier. I was only in hospital for 2 days but I slept there 2 nights so since getting out and napping through the days at home I have spent the week trying to remember what day it is. I’m 87% sure that it’s a Friday right now.
As a result of my perpetual nap cycle something strange happened.
I missed something, a significant date which I would usually acknowledge. Not a day to celebrate but more of a day to remember, to throw back a drink and say “well… fuck”, a yearly tradition.
3 days ago marked 5 years since the death of a good friend. I wrote a little about him in my blog ‘Red Ink’, you can find that below:
Last night I went to the screening for a short film I worked on over Christmas. It’s called RED INK and will be showing…medium.com
It felt really strange getting to the end of the day on the 2nd of May only to realise that for the first year since his death I had let it slip. This was usually a date which I was aware of for at least a week leading up to it. I would look at my calendar and find out what I had booked in for the day. I’d never cancel my plans but simply know that wherever I was that day I was bound to find myself lost in thought in the down time, reflecting back to the hardest point in my life, one that no doubt changed my future.
I can’t explain why but I always felt that it was important to acknowledge this day, maybe it has something to do with not forgetting him but I can’t help but wonder if it’s an unhealthy ritual. There is nothing wrong with keeping the memory of a great person alive but why do we feel the need to acknowledge the day of their death? Celebrating his birthday holds a happier sentiment and it becomes easier to focus on his wonderful, colourful, vibrant life. On the anniversary of his death I find it hard not to focus on the “death” part and under his specific circumstances I know too many graphic details surrounding it. Safe to say it’s never a day filled with happy flashbacks of better times.
But this year… this year…
I tend to take anaesthetic quite badly, last time I threw up for an entire day and had to stay in hospital an extra night. This time I prepared them for this and they pumped me full of anti nausea meds which got me out of hospital on Monday but when all those wonderful drugs wore off I spent the following days feeling hung over and napping.
So this year I let it slip and what happened? Nothing.
That in itself is a little depressing. Nothing happened. Life went on.
I have never admitted aloud why I acknowledge Luke’s birth and death day but having missed a year it’s put a few things into perspective. I miss him, simple as that. I miss the shit out of that tall, skinny, horribly inappropriate, beautiful, talented guy and I still mourn for all that he would and should have been. On top of that, I am horribly afraid that I will slip and forget him and as someone I respect so greatly that feels like an awful thing.
I know that it’s silly and that I won’t forget him, there are certain people in your life who leave an impact and as he died young it means that he will remain perfect in memory. Thinking about it now I don’t think I have any bad memories of him…
One time he drunkenly messed my hair up when I had JUST done it but that’s all I got… and I just had to get drunk too and then it wasn’t a problem.
I’m going to keep this blog short.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with keeping a memory alive as long as it doesn’t consume you or break you on a day to day basis, you need to be able to live your life too. Revisiting my long lost friend twice a year doesn’t seem unreasonable and although I can’t help but think on some of the horrible facts surrounding his death I also get flooded with beautiful memories of better times as well. I guess I choose this, taking the good with the bad.
I’m going to leave you with some of the good, my first memory of Luke and how we became friends.
Back in High school there was this boy. Of course there was, it’s a high school story, there’s always a boy. I had recently gotten out of another unsuccessful relationshit (Damn! That was the best typo, Ima leave that there!) and I was friends with this boy I had a crush on. We would hang out a lot, from an outsider perspective of course we liked each other but I was only newly single and so it felt complicated and we wouldn’t admit to any of those gross feelings things.
Christmas and new years rolled over which brought us to January and his birthday, this year he decided to throw a party. We had only been friends for a couple of months so I didn’t know any of his friends yet but he invited me along.
I can’t remember too much about this day but we were all young and dumb so I’m pretty sure we drank a bit and all went for a walk down to the local grave yard/play equipment. As you do.
When we got back my boy crush and I were sitting in a hammock together just chatting.
He had been at the party the entire time and I’m sure I had met him already but I have no memory of this, I just knew that he was the boy’s best friend. What I didn’t know is that the boy had decided “Agh! Girls! Too complicated, I’ll try and push her together with my best friend and then I don’t have to deal with these feeling things” So Luke enters, boy crush gets up out of the hammock and says “Luke, you can take my place”.
So he did!
My first memory of Luke is us hugging in a hammock, neither of us interested AT ALL, safe to say we weren’t each others “type” but we stayed anyway and just chatted. We were friends from then on. It’s such a simple memory but I like it, we used to reminisce on our strange “meet-cute”.
Ok wrapping up now, I promise!
This year I’m on antibiotics after the appendix thing and can’t have alcohol for a little while so unfortunately, I can’t have a drink in his honour.
You can though, so please raise a glass, I guess this is my verbal version of me holding up a glass and saying we remember you, we love you and we respect the crap out of you. Wherever you are, I hope there’s sweet guitars for you to play, rock climbing, hot guys and whatever your heart desires.
All the best poppet xx