When I see a pile of dirt, it reminds me of you

So that title really doesn’t paint the best picture. Allow me to explain.

I’m sure we all do it; we have something in life that might remind us of someone. You might smell a particular perfume, and it reminds you of a woman you once knew, or you hear a song that brings back memories of a road trip you did with two other mates. This is one of those scenarios, just probably less flattering for my friend.

An old and dear friend rang me one afternoon. We had known each other for close to 30 years, we’d worked together, and we knew each other’s families. He and his wife stayed with me for three weeks when his daughters were in high school. We’d traveled overseas together, and when my dad died, he was one of the first to come out to Mum’s place.

So, one day I’m driving along the highway to look at a place to buy because I’d recently moved back to my home state, and my friend rang. It was one of our typical phone conversations that consisted of discussions on anything and everything. We talked about his intolerance to lactose, his family, my family, his work, my work, politics, and then he moved on, telling me how he’d recently started drinking tequila. His rationale for the shift to tequila was, “it doesn’t seem to give me the hangovers that other alcohols do”. This sounded to me like bullshit justification, but whatever works for him.

At one point, I drove past a point on the highway where there was some new construction going on. I don’t know why I noticed it, or what prompted me to commit that to memory, but I did subconsciously. There was a big pile of dirt which had been excavated from the site, obviously in perparation for something to be built there.

Four days later, I got a call from my friend’s wife. He’d fallen down a flight of stairs and suffered a severe head injury; they didn’t know if he was going to make it. I didn’t need to ask if he’d been drinking; I knew he had, he’d been drinking a lot more recently. Over the next 24 hours, it was excruciating as they operated and tried to figure out what they could do. Eventually, the phone call came from one of his daughters that they’d decided to turn off the machines, because they couldn’t find any signs of brain activity.

It was a gut-punch I didn’t expect or particularly want. The next couple of weeks were hectic, with me helping with the funeral preparations, delivering one of the eulogies, and trying to be there for his wife and daughters.

As the weeks went on, I relived that last conversation with my friend. Partially because I wish I’d suggested he cut down on his drinking. But a weird thing happened, I started to remember that big pile of dirt as well. I’d think to myself, “The last time I spoke to you was as I drove past that mound of dirt”.

It’s not seeing a sunrise or hearing an opera singer hit a magic note. It’s a pile of dirt. But every time I drive past, it brings back that memory.

I know that over time dirt pile will be moved, it’s an inevitability, so I wonder if my thoughts will change to “Oh, there’s that house, which is built where there was a pile of dirt that reminded me of you”? I guess I can only wait and see.

But until then, my friend, whenever I see a pile of dirt, it will remind me of you.