Thursday, November 7, 2013
Today's muse: After twelve years in funeral service and being married to an undertaker, the death of a friend still hurts.
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I was told today that a friend chose to take his own life on Friday.
Admittedly, we’re not close friends. After all, if we were, I would have known before today. In my heart, I know there is little I could have done to prevent this, but it still saddens me. Matthew was a vibrant spirit, always smiling, always laughing. I keep thinking I could have talked to him, I could have listened.
He pronounced my name the way my father does, and I knew then, he was a fellow French Canadian. From that moment, our conversations were in French.
Tall and lanky, he had sandy hair that hung past his shoulders, usually pulled back in a neat tail. I saw him shortly after he cut it all off, saddened that he’d lost his Surfer Dude look. Coincidentally, just days before, I had also cut off all mine. When we saw each other, we laughed and had a great conversation about how liberated we now were, which quickly evolved into a serious discussion on shampoo volume and conditioner. Most conversations deviated to trash talk and harmless flirting, though we both knew I wasn’t his type.
I know the colours aren’t as bright today, and I don’t imagine they will be for a while, but I know the next time I see a rainbow, it will be Matthew, telling me all is well.
While he was with us, he may have felt pain, and perhaps his scars never quite healed, but I am confident he is happy in Summerland and look forward to seeing him again, when it is my time.