A Year of Loss

In the last 12 months, a startling number of people I was close to have died. Last January, my Great Grandma Vi, who'd lived to the grand old age of 101, died just short of her 102nd birthday. It both was and wasn't a surprise at the same time. She was very old (obviously) and very frail but she kept her wits until the moment of her death which was wonderful. I regret not spending more time listening to her stories. After a century on this earth, she must have had some amazing ones.

Then in the summer, my step-dad's mam, Jean, died. She took ill fairly suddenly and we were told as soon as she went into hospital that she was unlikely to make it more than six more weeks. She made less than three. She passed relatively peacefully, all things considered, although the manner of her sickness was, and still is, a point of embarrassment for my step-family. Simply, she was an alcoholic. The human body just isn't equipped to deal with the volume of alcohol she took in.

In September, as I've already written, my Gran, Dorothy, died. We were incredibly close. She pretty much raised me - even though I lived with my mum and step-dad, they both worked full-time so I spent a lot of time at my Gran's house until I was in college. Her death was sudden and heart-breaking. I think what made it even worse was that she recovered from her heart operation faster than we expected - doctors and nurses on the cardiac ward included. The speed of the turnaround from fine-but-tired-after-undergoing-heart-surgery to, well, dying was enough to give even the most seasoned head-banger whiplash.

The week before last, I heard that a close childhood friend, Hal, took his own life. We'd been in the county swimming club and competed together. He was in the year above me at the same school and even though we didn't hang out often through school, we always got on well and always promised to get together more often. It never materialised, unfortunately. Through college, I'd bump into him every other week or so and we always talked as if no time had passed. I regret not talking to him more. His life was a one so full of promise. He was a musician and a writer. He'd played at festivals with his band and was looking to get books published. He would have been so great. In one way, I wonder how it went so wrong for him but then again, at the same time, I totally understand how it could have happened, even if I don't know exactly what he went through. I can wish all I want that I was there for him when, realistically, it's pointless. He had better, closer friends than me who were or should have been there for him. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter how many people are there for you, if you feel as though you have no self-worth then nothing can make it better but you. It's a catch 22 situation and it's horrible.

This year has very limited ways that it can be worse than last year. I've said that before and I was told that I was jinxing it. Fuck jinxing it. There'll be hell to pay if this year falls to shit as well as last year. Frankly, after my sorry mental state in the last few weeks, I'm not sure I'd make it if this year was worse.