Dark of the Year..

(Originally posted on LIvejournal and mirrored at:   https://calum.dreamwidth.org/214196.html)

Four years ago, tonight, my friend Sarah (seolta) died.

She was taken into hospital in early December, and spent Christmas, New Year and her birthday in there. I was privileged enough to be able to spend time with her nearly every day she was there.
New Years night sticks in my memory – sitting in the Western General with her and Syd, watching the Hootenanny on TV, then moving through to the other side to watch the fireworks at New Year. It truly was the best view in Edinburgh that night, we could see three of the five hills.

I can’t really even begin to describe what it was like. It was the worst you could imagine it could be for her – and yet, she was still able to find moments to laugh, joke, and share wonderful secrets.

Since that dark winter with her, she’s haunted me every Christmas and New Year season, but I wouldn’t chase those ghost-memories away for one second.

I can never find the words to capture what she meant to me, how I feel now, how I remember her. But I can at least share one part.

The night she died, I’d jumped on my motorbike to ride off and get someone else who wanted to be there. I didn’t realise as I left, she’d already died; I still had a hope in my mind that I’d be able to get out, fetch the others, and get back in time to say goodbye. But as I rode off, the wind whipped up around me, and I had a really strong image of her sliding onto my pillion. I still didn’t get it at the time.. I thought she was dreaming, or I was imagining it, but she rode with me.. urging me to go faster the whole way, laughing, and singing.. until we passed her flat.. Then, she was gone.

I didn’t find out she had died till I got to the other end. I still didn’t let go my feelings.. those were locked down tight till.. well, till someone poked me in the right way. (And if you’re reading this, consider a lot of swearing.. and a lot of thanks.. in response).

I was honoured to share whisky in her flat with her family and closest friends that night – it felt as if I’d finally caught up with her.. that she lingered there to watch what we said about her. She wanted, so much, to be remembered. As if anyone who knew her would ever forget her.

I did promise her, so many times, that I would never forget her. So to make sure she knows that.. I do that same bike ride every year, on the day she died. I take a roundabout route up to the hospice.. then ride off, the same way.. singing the same song.. until I pass her flat and feel her slip away again. It’s different each year – the first year I felt her with me so strongly that I knew it was her, not just wishful thinking or memory. The second.. I didn’t feel her presence, but remembered every moment as if I was reliving it. Last year, I just heard laughing, and that lifted the darkness for me again.

This year – there was no way I could have done the bike ride. The roads are too dangerous, and even if I was going to attempt it, my bike is literally frozen into a block of ice, and I doubt it would start. So, I did the same trip in a car. On the way there, I passed a silver audi with the registration SE 03 LTA, and it made me jump. Then I realised her first reaction would have been that she didn’t want her name on an ugly car like that. Driving that route wasn’t the same as riding it, there was no way to feel her with me, and the memories didn’t flood back in the same way. But it did have the advantage that I could play that same song on the CD player, and sing along loudly.

And as always, it lifted the darkness. I’m sad she’s gone, I miss her terribly. I doubt many people ever understood how much I loved her.. But I’m happy that I remember her so clearly that she’s still part of my life. And I won’t, ever, even for a moment, forget her.

Other posts about Sarah:   

For those that didn’t know her, this is what I wrote after she died: https://www.skirnir.com/seolta/sarah/

All my posts about Sarah are saved here now: https://www.skirnir.com/seolta/