Requiem for a Friend

My friend,

I thought long and hard about whether I should start this as I'm about to.

It just seemed so obvious a thing to say, so hackneyed and insincere: it’s so easy for me to say while it must be so unimaginably hard for you to bear.

But I think this is what made me decide to say it - for I mean it genuinely and truthfully - I am so sorry this has happened, and I wish I could do something, or give something, to stop it.

The one thing I can do is thank you and express to you my genuine gratitude.

I hope you can don’t mind a short indulgence while I talk about myself for a moment. Far be it to think you need to concern yourself with me just now, but I’ll keep it brief and I trust you’ll soon see its pertinence.

I’ve recently had some protracted mental health issues - depression principally. Things that I’ve come to realise I’ve struggled with as long as I can remember; unhealthy thinking: severe shyness, low-self esteem, an incessant inner dialogue that overthinks everything, all the time, what I said, what I didn’t say, what I should have said, my appearance, my choices.

I could go on but that’s enough - enough to give some important context for what I’ll say next.

And it’s all about you now, my friend, I promise.

I can remember the first time I met you in that crumbling shit-hole of a halls of residence. I can’t remember what we said to one another but I don’t think that’s important.

What I do remember is your grin. I do remember your enthusiasm. I remember your warmth. I remember the twinkle in your eyes.

But what I remember most, was this - I remember realising I didn’t have to try.

I didn’t have to try to say something funny, or struggle to impress you. Whatever your impression of me, you only portrayed a genuine interest and an honest welcome. You didn’t care what I looked like, or how I dressed, or a myriad of other things that I might worry about. My anxiety and shyness melted away. You were just open and gracious. I could relax around you. I didn’t need to worry. I could be myself, because you were satisfied with who that was.

I knew almost straightaway that I didn’t need to try and I cannot tell you what a release that knowledge was. I also cannot tell you, all these years later, how rare that is. How few people are like that. What an amazing human you are to be like that. So many others aren’t - they mock, they exploit, they ignore.

But never you. And I was lucky enough to find myself directly opposite you.

I think from the first moments I admired you - you were - you are - a wonderful human being. And you had so many cool things to boot! The stereo system, the music, the projection screen, the colour printer, the sports cars, the home brew, the bong (lol) and you were so willing to openly share everything.

As I got to know you, I was awed by your hospitality, your engineering and practical mind, your driving skills, your ability to make things, seemingly do anything.

I don’t mind saying how envious this sometimes made me.

I want you to know all this because I want you know how unique you are - a genuine, caring person without a shred of pretense, someone who always considered others before himself.

But I’m not quite done yet. I hope I’ve not bored you.

One thing I’ve learned, or am trying to learn, is to not live with regret. Not to dwell on what could have been, or should have been.

That said, I’m finding it hard not to say that I regret not having perfect recollection of that time I first met you, or exactly what we did that first term, the first drink I bought you, and what you bought me, the first film we watched on your projection screen, the first time we went to the 70s night and what we wore, what I ate that time we had a Chinese crammed in your room, the first time we stumbled into the cross, and the first song we drunkenly danced to, the first thing you cooked at the first bbq you invited me too.

Later, more recently, I regret not keeping in touch better as we got older. I regret not hearing of more of the things I know you’ve excelled at, I regret not knowing of your achievements that would have doubtless awed me more.

I regret not knowing you better than I do.

But, like I said, I am learning not to focus on regret.

Instead, I will treasure what I do recall.

I realise I recall we did all those things I mentioned, even though I can’t recall them precisely, and then I find I can recall so much more.

I recall you grinned far more than frowned; I recall your naked enthusiasm; your booming spontaneous laughter; the smile on your face that greeted me at the start of a new term; your ease with yourself and your part in the world.

I recall the thrill of acceleration as you sped us off in that green race car, the roar of its engine and the throaty splutter of its exhaust; I recall the satisfied enjoyment on your face as we raced away.

I remember that trip we went on to France, four of us stuffed in your Fiat, the overnight ferry, with nowhere to sleep and no sleep to be had; I recall your stamina driving the next day, while I struggled to stay awake. I recall not needing to worry, knowing you were driving.

I recall the noises you used to make when something you were fixing wouldn’t work, the way you used to curse and mutter under your breath. I recall the time you cracked at the sight of your unwashed pots and pans, seen once too many times…frustrated to the max, I recall watching you chucking them all outside, raving in anger all the way.

I recall the way you would dance, moving side to side, sweat beading your brow, your eyes closed, lost to the music.

I recall all these things, and more.

I recall the ease of your company. I find I can only recall moments of happiness, of laughter. I recall we shared a special time of our lives. I recall we were carefree, unburdened, untroubled.

I recall that we were young.

I recall how we shared the briefest of moments during the best times of our lives. I will always cherish that. I think of those days often. I only wish we’d enjoyed them more.

I hope you’re able to remember some of the things I can, and remember yet more of the things I missed.

I hope you can smile at some of the things I’ve smiled at, writing this.

And more, I so hope in the coming days, weeks, and months - as long as possible I truly pray - I hope these moments are filled with and centred on the many wondrous, joyous memories I know you’ve made, and that sharing those memories with those closest to you and those that love you dearly, brings you comfort and peace.

Truly, thank you.

Sincerely, and earnestly,

Your friend.