Remembering…

Seven years ago, tonight, my friend Sarah 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. 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. That moment was horrible, and necessary).

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.

This year – there was no way I could have done the bike ride. My bike hasn’t been ridden for five months, and I’m not confident enough of my vision to watch road surfaces at night while riding on two wheels. I did the same trip in a car. It wasn’t quite the same. On the way up I listened to a CD I’d listened to with Sarah on a road trip to Glasgow, and that we’d played games to. Then I turned it off, and sang the same song loudly as I drove from the hospice, to the road she used to live on.

There’s another tradition that’s emerged around her too. That year, we never got around to taking down the Christmas tree – it was still up on the 9th, and we took it down the next day. So every year, the tree has stayed up, through the night of the 9th – lighting the dark winter. The bulbs blew on our tree on Monday, so its been dark a couple of days. I did try to get more lights, so it would be lit tonight, but can hear Sarah saying “don’t be silly, the tree’s still up!”

None of this lifted the darkness this year. I’m hoping that writing this, and drinking a glass of whisky in her memory, will bring back the light.

I miss Sarah 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/