So far, 2010 has been one of those illegal cabbies in those overly scary ads: it opened its door, said it’d get me home, took way too much money up front, took a wrong turn, had its wicked way with me, tossed my hair all up and left me in a quarry. 2010 has not been the gentleman it pretended to be on New Year’s Eve. Then, it had a top hat and white gloves on, but the fireworks must have blinded me to its twirly moustache. What a creep. I wish I had better news for you, but 2010 has done it again.
I acknowledge that there are people out there with fawns eating out of their palms, dripping petals from their mouths when they speak and followed everywhere by their own theme music, but I don’t know any. Plus, if someone does lead you to believe they have their own fawn, it’s probably a goat at best (more likely a hamster – and the theme music is probably rubbish). Luckily, most people I know are bearing up really well in this fawn drought. They won’t even let a dearth of fawns get them down – I’m not doing so bad myself. It’s not easy. I could use a fawn. But I’ll be ok til one wanders past.
The saying “the good die young” is a terrible cliché; there are plenty of non-horrible olds out there. But I never for one second thought that one very, very good person would not only die this young, but that she’d ultimately take matters into her own hands. However much I moan about 2010, for her, every single second was torture. In truth, all of the last few years appear to have been awful for her and no amount of family, friends or happy events could cheer her. It wasn’t about being “a bit low”: the pain was literally unbearable and unending. Last week, she ended if for herself.
I hadn’t seen her in years when I heard she’d gone. I wish I had. She used to be part of my extended family of friends and I would see her every week. We all travelled together. We had birthdays and Christmasses and New Years together. She was wise and kind and so much fun: the only thing clouding those wonderful memories now is the thought that all the while we were laughing, someone in the room was experiencing it all at one remove. I believe she enjoyed all those times – I have to – but it seems none of it even approached salving her private mental anguish.
It was only after our lives all changed and we were no longer seeing each other regularly that she admitted to me what was going on. She was dealing with it: she was talking to the right medical people, being as proactive and positive as possible. I was shocked by some of what I heard but I had no doubt she would beat it. If anyone could, she could. Someone so good and intelligent and bursting with talent would definitely get past this. I wish I’d been right.
There was no way I couldn’t write about her passing but this is not my story. Please don’t send me your condolences because they’re not mine to accept. Her family and those who’d seen her recently need those.
I just want to say goodbye to someone who was always kind and supportive, who taught me so much and inspired me even more. I never knew how much pain you were in. I’m sorry.
I will remember your wonderful work. That amazing smile. Those drunken carols in your house that Christmas. Sleep well, S. Sweet dreams.
