07
I lie in bed and, as my sleeplessness winds into the early morning hours, I think of my friend, Sam, who took his own life about eight years ago. I met him in 2007 when I went back to school to study professional writing and editing as a mature-age student – he was fifteen years younger than me, infinitely more talented than me at the same age (although he probably was regardless of age), intelligent, and funny (with a dry sense of humour). Once school had finished, we kept sporadically in touch over the years, and I always enjoyed his company. But I’m a misanthrope when it comes to everyday…
Two
I lost my best friend early last year. Because of lockdowns, retrenchment, and a jealous ex (although not an ex at the time) we didn’t get to hang out as much in the last few years. When she died, there was this immediate regret about all these missed opportunities, and guilt over choices I made that contributed to that. I’ve lost other people before – one of my earliest memories is my grandfather’s funeral, and kissing his cold cheek at the open-coffin ceremony. I would’ve only been three or four. Some time later, I recall my grandmother, dressed all in black, draped over his grave at the funeral, sobbing uncontrollably,…