I always thought I would write about you. I need to, or I will never be at peace. Where should I begin?
I’m always afraid to be too cheesy, because that’s what I do sometimes. I try not to, but I’ve never spent a day without thinking about you. What wouldn’t I give to have another hug from you? What wouldn’t I give to hold you only one more time. To tell you how much you mean to me and how much I miss you.
As of a few weeks ago, it has been two years that you left me. Before, I didn’t realise that it would hurt me. I thought I was indestructible but I wasn’t. I thought during those years of suffering that the only thing I wanted, for you and for me, was the end. But when you left, the only thing I wanted was for you to come back. I think that, for almost three years, I was so drowned under all the things that were happening around me, that I barely realised I was losing you.
It arrived so quickly.
This phone call, on the 23rd of April 2014. I didn’t believe my ears what the man at the other end of the phone was saying. You had been in an accident. I think I didn’t even cry that night. I was just shocked.
And you were so far away. I didn’t know what to do.
Then you woke up, a couple of weeks later. I should have been happy, but I didn’t have the time for hope. I needed to talk to the insurance, to the hospital, to choose shit I didn’t know about in a fucking foreign language that I didn’t understand.
The doctors were speaking to me as if I was a grown up with no heart. But I was 22 and I did have a heart. A broken heart.
I was spending hours on the phone every weeks for three months, trying to find the best hospital, the best operation, the best way to get paid by the insurance, the best way to deal with the university that was wondering about your studies, the best way to deal with the owner of your apartment because he needed his rent payment, the best way to deal with your girlfriend who didn’t understand why I was doing all those things if I was only a friend, and so much else. I understood that people didn’t give a shit about other people’s emotions, even when they are six feet under. So I created my shell to protect me against this brutal world that was taking my friend away and treating me like I was a rock. And I became a rock.
My boyfriend left me because I was going out and drinking too much, but I honestly didn’t care. I was just trying to put one foot after the other to move forward, day after day.
I was trying to smile and laugh as many times as I can. I was a rock and nobody needed to know that I was not okay.
In August, I went to Cambridge. I saw you for the first time since the accident happened. I had the feeling that the world was falling on my shoulders. You couldn’t speak, or even move, so your eyes were just looking at me. Seeing you like this was the biggest slap in the face I had ever received.
For two years, I managed to deal with pretty much everything. Coming to England every three months to hold your hand for a couple of days. It was so few, but you don’t know how it was enlightening my life.
But as time went by, breaches started appearing in the rock. Caught by the night, drinking and going out everyday without even knowing why, working 60 hours a week and dealing with all the administration things as usual. My trips to England were everything keeping me awake. My body was reacting pretty badly, red patches everywhere, my back was crushed and I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. I was exhausted.
I was counting the days before moving to England for real. And I’ve never been as happy as my first days in England. You were still in the same bed, with the same reaction. A vegetable. My little carrot. But at least I was there for you. Whether you could have realised it or not, it didn’t matter. I was just there and you were there too.
One month later, on the 27th of December 2016, after a whole afternoon next to you, listening to our favourite David Bowie’s album, you disappeared. I felt your hand clasping mine before releasing it forever. Like the little signs you imagine when you think of them very hard. But this wasn’t the fruit of my imagination. It was real. I know it.
I’ll never forget this moment. This moment I realised that after three years, it was over for real. That this time you won’t come back, and that I will have to live without you for the rest of my life. I realised that that shitty paperwork didn’t have any sort of importance compared to your presence. That my fucking shell was just a way to not think about how much I love you.
I’m sorry if I didn’t do the things as I should have done then. I’m sorry to have left you alone so long. I’m sorry to have let you suffer without having been able to do anything. I’m just sorry because I could have done better.
But I know you don’t care because you were the most incredible man that has ever existed. You were the man who should have lived forever, but who only lived for 27 years. You were the kindest, the funniest, and the smartest. And even if you will keep living in my heart, you left a big hole in my life.
As David Bowie says, the stars look very different since you’re gone, my Major Tom.