Today I ran into my South African friend from hospital in the outpatients waiting room. I exclaimed in surprise and cried with her for some time. There's always a weird pressure to have positive news to report, as if it would be a waste if one of us were still lost in the thick of it.
This is somewhat contradictory because of all the people who would understand, you'd think it would be those who witnessed the fallout of grief, trauma, distress and mania in it's most complete form. Four weeks on a psych ward tends to do that to people.
I wanted to tell her about your death but I didn't know how. I couldn't find the words to say how much it meant to see her again or how much it hurt that I couldn't see you. I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news and see her face crumble or, worse yet, having to explain to her who you were. Like you meant nothing to no-one but me.
You are missed. You are missed. You are missed.