Grief is a bitch & a letter to Crash
It’s been one whole year, minus 6 days I got the news you were unwell. I remember the night like it was 5 minutes ago, when my friend Jen told me that you were unwell. So much so that it wasn’t something that could get better and it would take you in a matter of months. I walked home from a friends house party, overly inebriated I’ll admit, and there were many voice messages back & forth. All as I gathered information about your condition and without shame, I was absolutely beside myself with heartache and cried in the rain during my drunken walk home.
Jen told me that you had wanted your nearest and dearest to be told first. And that in itself hit hard, because it made it seem so much more real that your illness could not be made better. I recall the next day or two when you shared it on Facebook. At that point, it still didn’t feel real. It felt like a cruel joke that you were partial to telling. But this was very real, very true, and happening. Whether any of us wanted it or not. You’re wishes were to not be contacted, to not give sympathy and to give you space. I respected that, and if I’m honest, it killed me to not be able to reach out. Because, as a friend of yours for over 20yrs, it felt wrong not to do so. I remember sending you a text and I recall it being seen, but never getting a reply. At that time, I thought, at least you had seen it. No reply was needed, but it was enough to know that you had seen it, and knew I was thinking of you.
Six days after being told you were unwell, I was sitting in work. It was a Thursday and I got a text at around 10:30am saying that you were back in hospital, uncommunicative and with your family. Overall, it wasn’t a hopeful outcome. Little did I ever think that just after 1pm that same day, that I would get an update with the words “Crash is gone”.
I broke and my boss sent me home from work. I was numb from the news and if I am honest, I didn’t quite believe it. We thought you had months, not literally days. You’re the 3rd person who has died on me, when I haven’t had the chance to say goodbye. First was my best friend Jay, the second was my Mum and then you…
I flew over to be with you and went to see you the day before your big day. I hadn’t long landed in Manchester, trained it to Blackpool, took a tram to Fleetwood and eventually found the funeral home were you housed in. I was on my own, still didn’t understand how you were gone, and I was scared to see you. Admittedly because I knew that would possibly be a huge acceptance moment. The realization that you were in fact, dead. But I also knew you would’ve kick my ass for seeing you laying there.
To reassure you though, if by some spooky apparitional manner that you see these words I am burbling out, you still looked like you and Zeus & Socks were with you. I sat there for the whole 60 minutes I was allowed to have, cried as I spoke to you, wrote you a note and placed it on top of the pile of notes others had left you. I couldn’t accept the reality of you being dead. I refused too. And even to this day, the day after your first year of being gone, I still cannot accept it.
Your being gone still utterly destroys me, and I find it difficult to breathe. For a month after you passed, I was lost. It took 29 days for your funeral to be able to take place, and for those 29 days, I could not function. My Husband and children watched me barely exist. I cried constantly, hardly ate anything and mourned you like I’ve never mourned anyone before. And I’m a Motherless Daughter. To me, you were life. You had your demons, sure, hell, we all do. But you just knew how to bring joy, laughter & immeasurable chaos to a regular mundane day.
Do you remember the first day we met? I was 21yrs old, and it was at a BBQ at someones house, and if I am honest, have no idea who that house belonged too, as we spent time in the back garden. Wizard was there, Sam and Rory. I also recall light sabres being present! I was the new addition to the group and you welcomed me like you’d known me for years. You had shoulder length curly hair, and wore that leather jacket that you wore every time I ever saw you after that day! For years!
That afternoon, we went to the local Spar for alcoholic provisions and the lady at the checkout asked if I was from Australia, we laughed, I said no and that I was from Northern Ireland. You laughed, pointed at me and said “From this day forth, you’ll be called Ozzy”, and for 20yrs plus, that is what you called me. Oz, Ozzy & your little Irish pint of fun. When I was back in Northern Ireland, you’d text me randomly declaring that a flight ticket must be purchased for me to come and hang out, and no reason would be a good enough excuse!
I got my first tattoo with you! Do you remember that? We’d went out for my 30th birthday the night before, I was sparked out in dreamland, only to be woken by your persistent phone calls. Firstly thinking how you were not in a alcoholic infused coma yourself, but nevertheless you tempted me with a bacon sandwich and next thing I knew you were looking at me dead in the eye as I sat in that tattoo chair, as the tattoo needle embedded my skin and shouted “YOU DIDN’T EVEN FLINCH!”. I do believe I may have even fallen asleep…
15 years later…
From piracy on the high seas, stealing poor Warby’s backpack and his “grog”. To blasting “Tell me Ma” from the rooftops when I walked into the Counting House were you DJ’ed…from all the moments we shared, laughed, and just had the most epic friendship.
Fast forward to your big send off day. I made sure to dress nicely and a little pirate-ey, which I knew you’d appreciate. I met up with Mouth, for a few catch-up drinks beforehand, and also some food. Because lets be honest, it was a day for drinking. Tim picked us up from where I was staying {which also had a cucumber left in the fridge, which I knew you’d find highly amusing!}. And we made our way to the church. I recall getting out of the car, my stomach being in knots and spotting Sam. We just both just broke and sobbed in each others arms. We didn’t let go of each other for your whole service, because we needed support to get us through. Not to mentioned watching Rory stand at the end of the hearse waiting to walk you in? Absolutely shattered us all. He looked like a little boy, head bowed & beyond heartbroken at your passing.
Did you know how much you were loved? I truly don’t believe you did. We packed out that church and the churchyard outside for your service. Your brother wear a Hawaiian shirt and made a really good speech in your honor, there was even a few laughs which you would have appreciated. I went up to your parents at the after event at the Counting house, and I spoke to them briefly. My heart broke for them, because I think they caught a glimpse at how immeasurably loved you were. We packed out that entire venue Crash. Every single inch of it, and all for you. But at the end of the day, no parent should ever, ever have to bury a child.
Aside from the above, it’s been 366 days since you passed, and quite frankly, I don’t like it. I refuse to accept it, and your death still renders me breathless. I miss you more than words could ever convey and I hate it beyond measure that you are no longer here to be the massive fucking light that you were. And this post may come across as the ramblings of a mad woman, but I am just trying to find a way to navigate this grief, because it consumes me. When I cry, I cannot stop. You are in my thoughts every single day, I speak your name if not everyday, it’s almost everyday, because it feels wrong not too.
And to add to the pain, there is a Crash dopple ganger who passes my work on the daily. Even down to the the leather jacket…
My last words of these ramblings are….I wholeheartedly hope you knew how much you were loved. Because you were. Beyond measure. In fact, you were loved by so many of us, that would overwhelm a “normal” person, but you were a pretty spectacular human being who left his mark on everyone he met.
I miss you man. I hope wherever you are, that you are causing havoc and raising a little hell.
I’ll love you forever…
Ozzy x
