When life turns around
You’re in my head… I wish I could ask you to leave, but I also wish I could ask you to stay. You were one of my best friends and we let go of each other, and for my part in that I am for ever sorry. You think you have all the time in the world, but too many times I have had to realise life is too short to think like that. But for what it’s worth – you were on my mind a lot more than you would think, wondering how you were, what you were doing, what you were doing for a living. And I still didn’t bother to ask… You were only a phone call away.
I was having a bad day, crying over everything and nothing. Why? I had no idea. Then I read a tribute on a place as trivial as facebook. I had to read it more than once to understand that you were not just leaving this country, you were leaving this life. That was a lot to take in… You were younger than me! You were happy, always happy no matter what came your way! It wasn’t supposed to be like this… But Heaven gained a new angel that day. And when the stars come out I will look for you, because I know you are out there somewhere.
Our friend found a wife in South Africa. That was you. And he married you on our wedding anniversary! From the first time we met we became the best of friends. We talked and talked and forgot everything else. Our husbands were working on our house and we were just having fun. We talked about and laughed at everything from sex to marijuana, from beauty to sponge cakes, from parents to work applications. As much as you loved anyone you also loved my kids. You played with them, laughed at them and with them. And one of those beautiful summer days we went to the beach in Klagshamn. To lift the weight off my shoulders for a while you kept an eye on my children so I could swim. You were not much of a beach person really, you were happy in the shade with your clothes on. Not that you were bothered with your weight, I don’t think you were. You just didn’t like being in the sun, exposed to the rays. You were beautiful inside and out…
It was tough for you in the beginning. Finding work could be hard for anybody, and for you not knowing Swedish it was of course worse. Cleaning staff is needed always, and that’s what you got. After having worked in shipping for years it was a huge change. But a job is a job, and better than nothing while looking for something else. You were doing a nail course in order to fix ladys’ nails in a beauty parlour somewhere or on your own. I can’t remember that you ever finished this. Later on in life you’d go from nails to feet, but you didn’t know that then… But working as a cleaner could give you the possibility to look for work at the companies you were doing the cleaning for. However, you soon found out that they thought they were too good for you and would not hire the cleaner… So unfair! But it was their loss, they didn’t realise your true value… But then finally… You were about to become my neighbor, applicating for a job near where I worked, down in the port. You were so hopeful, so happy! And then you called me, telling me what they had told you: “The good news is you got the job. The bad news is that the position will not be developed after all. ” So the new position they were starting would not start… You were just laughing at the whole thing, despite the fact you were back to square one.
You had so many crazy ideas, you were so adventurous and spontaneous. The sky was the limit… One thing I remember in particular – your wished to introduce me to certain substances… But I have never ever tried any kind of narcotics, why should I start now…? The closest I’ve come was the smell of pot from the coffee shops in Amsterdam. One evening after too much wine you suggested we’d go to Copenhagen to get some weed. You said it was such a nice feeling, maybe something to put on my bucket list. I had made the mistake of telling you I was curious about pot and it would be fun to try it. Then we laughed a bit more, just like we were high already. I knew this would never happen, but you can’t stop a girl from dreaming… I had the perfect and honest reason not to, and I told you. “There’s only one problem – I can’t smoke…” But we did have some wine, and we sure enjoyed it. And you taught me one thing: “You want coffee?” “No thanks, I’m still enjoying my wine.” I think of you everytime I turn coffee down if I have wine left in my glass…
I also think of you when it comes to dying my hair. I used to tone my hair, meaning the color would wash out eventually. Took some effort, as it needed to be renewed quite often. “Why don’t you go for permanent hair dye?” you asked. My reply was I was afraid to in case I’d fail. I had done it once before and my dad called me an idiot, more or less. But I took your advice and used permanent hair dye for years. I gave it up only about a year ago, as I got so tired of the grey roots. That was all your fault, my friend. And now I let the hairdresser do it…
Your husband had bought a house for the two of you to live in. You trusted him on that, and I think you liked the house. We visited you there once, and it was a very nice house with great potential. You had so many plans for this house. You had brought your things over from South Africa – couches, curtains, washing machine and dryer and some more furniture. For your hubbie it was pretty tough. He was working full time, helping other people with their houses and then he had yours too to work on. Energy and time… There was not enough of any of them… And the money issue with only one person working full time. But you were happy, and you were so proud of your curtains that you finally had a window for. You had been talking about those curtains so many times, and I was happy to finally be introduced to them. Your laundry room must however have been under restoration. Your washing machine was standing in a corner of some empty space underneath the staircase.
We were like little girls… As close as we were we had to have some kind of childhood together. Do you remember that time when a pen had fallen through the wooden floor of our patio? We could see it through the gaps but could not reach it. Of course a pen lost was not a disaster, but it became a mission to us. We were lying on our stomachs, trying to figure out how to get that pen up. You analyzed the whole situation and came to the conclusion: “We’re basically fucked…” Well, it seemed that way, but the pen came back up somehow. Mission accomplished!
Then we sold the house and bought a new one. As it happened your hubbie’s services were needed once more. And I got to see you again! By that time you were talking about gastric surgery. You had an appointment in Belgium, a clinic there that would perform some kind of gastric bypass or sleeve with the possibility to make your stomach bigger again in case you got too skinny. The only problem was your citizenship. I’m not sure I ever understood what the problem was, as you were a Swedish citizen. You were, weren’t you…? But you won over the authorities – you always won – and you would have this done. I was so happy for you, too much weight takes its toll… Your husband may not have been quite that thrilled as he liked you big (a lot of you to love), but with him being skinny as flag pole, he wouldn’t understand.
Times changed, they always do. You and your husband got divorced for reasons I’ll keep between you and me. But not living together doesn’t necessarily mean love died. You were a strong woman. You came here with only your husband in your Swedish life. Then you got some friends, then you got working colleagues, and more friends, and then you had the strength to leave the one person you came here for. Not because you didn’t still love him, I know that… And he loved you until the very end... Anyway, in the middle of this we got to talk again, after quite a few years. We met at Emporia shopping mall, and talking on the phone I even had to describe my outfit in order for you to find me. Was it really that long ago? Well, it was a few kilos ago, I’ll tell you that! You had really lost a lot of weight! We grabbed a coffee and talked for a long time… My son was there too and you were so happy to see him, and he you. We went shopping, and had a blessed day together. You updated me on love, work, friends and weight loss. There was no risk for you to let it get to your head. Being skinny was just not your thing. You showed me pictures of how skinny you became after a short period of time. “I was 57 kg, I had no tits, I had no bum…” So you went right back to Belgium and told them to untie your stomach a bit. And you looked so good…!
So the last time I physically saw you was in May 2013. The last time I talked to you was on messenger, October 2017 when you told me your ex husband had a bad accident. We should have stayed in touch after that. I was fighting my own demons at that time, and as much as I needed a friend I couldn’t let anyone in behind the doors of my screwed up brain. The next time I came close to you I was saying goodbye to you at your coffin. And this time I brought my daughter, who also was deeply sorry for having lost you. Oh my sweet friend, why didn’t you tell me…? It hurts me to think that maybe you thought I wouldn’t care. Still I doubt you’d think that. We were just not part of each other’s lives anymore… And you didn’t want to bother me. I don’t know. All I know is that you were sad too for not telling me. Why else would you make me cry before I even found out you were gone…? So there you were – inside a wooden coffin with sun flowers on and around it. What flower could possibly suit you better? You were always reaching for the sky, striving for the sun. It was a different kind of funeral. Your friends were playing “Baker Street” with Gerry Rafferty before the ceremony started. I’ve heard that song so many times, but from now on it will always remind me of the last time I said goodbye to you. It was quite powerful to listen to it in the chapel. I’ve always liked the song, but all I could think of at the time was how good it really is. And it brought you back somehow, you were in the chapel with us. Best song, it had your name on it. And it worked its way into my head.
We put paper butterflies and roses on your coffin and told you to sleep tight and have a safe trip back home. We wrote condolences in the memory book meant for your ex husband. But we didn’t write anything personal on a piece of paper to put on your coffin. What would we write? With nothing prepared it would only have been trivial. My last words to you are right here, and I think you will feel them just as much as you would have felt them on your coffin… So we bowed to your partner, and we bowed to your ex husband. And we left you behind. And a mother in another part of the world will get her baby back in a coffin...
I have another song for you, my friend: “You saw me crying in the chapel…”
I miss you…
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| When words are not enough |
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