I honestly don’t know how I can put this into words, but I’ll try my best.
Yesterday, Monday 13th November, I had a text to say that a close friend had a turn for the worst, and if I was going to see him, call his ex partner, who was acting as a carer. I replied to his message, saying that I would, depanding on his condidtion, I’d see him on Thursday. But two minutes later, I had a call to say that he had passed away. He had been suffering from cancer for a number of years. He didn’t die alone and wasn’t in any pain, which I’m thankful for. He was 64.
For the last 24 hours, I’ve felt numb rather than grief, but I’m feeling that slowly. We had known each other for the last 14 years, which is quite a bit. We met through muteral friends and since he ran a shop with his then partner. From there, I’d see him and would do my work experience from his shop. He and his partner also had a side to them which I found unforgiveable; they’d act we’re best mates one moment then turn the next. The pair told everyone that came into contect with that they were brothers when in fact they were in an open relationship. The homosexuality didn’t bother me, even though I knew I was gay then. We somewhat fell out beofre making it up through a meal and a few drinks.
Then to cut to a few years later. I was diagnosed as a depressive and whilst I was in town, he saw me. He had been living with cancer for three years (if I remember rightly) by then. This was 2001. I had seen his ex and had told him that I was self harming and he some what passed it on. But none the less, our friendship was relit. I’d pop by his flat whenever I was in town, and we somewhat kept an eye out on each other. He’d have his bad days when he can’t get out of bed, but that was the nature of his cancer. On his good days, we’d go to Bristol, walking round a mall, or even go round the Welsh valleys.
But these last few months have been the hardest. He would call me to help round the house, even if my mood wasn’t in it (but looking back, I glad I did it), he was in hospital for a broken arm (which turned to bone cancer) and for calcium build up in his head. He would even turn up on my doorstep for me to go down his flat and look for a chain for his wallet on the internet. Remember that night well; I paid for a taxi to get us to his flat, made sure he was in bed and let his former partner know what was happening. Later found myself drinking. Don’t see myself as a carer, but time might prove me wrong.
I don’t remember him as a man on a hospital bed with a drip hanging out of his arm. I just remember him as someone who liked young lads and a mug of tea. But as I said, grief is slowly hitting me. I never felt it when my grandparents passed away and age is no excuse. I know that he’s in a better place, yet I’m numb for anything else.
Sorry if this makes a depressing read, but this feels like my only outlet, sharing it with you.
In loving memory of Steve (1942-2006)
Posted on Tue, 14 November 2006 at 12:00
