The Storm

Once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure whether the storm is really over but one thing is certain, when you come out of the storm, you won’t be the person who walked in. 

That’s what this storm is all about. 

~ Haruki Murakami

I don’t pretend to be any kind of expert on grief. I’m still sad, still crying–sometimes at the most inopportune of times–but then it’s only been five days. I vacillate between tears of sorrow and those of anger. I’ve been highly emotional. If I can compare it to the teapot… someone has shaken it and all the leaves are aflutter and I am ill at ease. I’ve been picking fights where they don’t exist. They are not unreasonable but they are topics I should steer clear of in this state.

Tomorrow we say goodbye to Mr M’s best friend. Tomorrow his widow, his parents, his brother and his friends bury him.

People say very complimentary things about people posthumously. Not all of them deserve it. Mr M’s friend however, was the embodiment of life. Always right there living in each and every moment, cramming an unfathomable amount of life into life. Last week Wednesday he sat opposite us, regaling us with tales of life in Israel, laughing uproariously all the while. He stopped at one point, looked at Mr M and I and said, “You know bru (a South Africanism for ‘brother’), there is so much I still want to do, so much but I have to sit back and remind myself of how much I’ve already done because I’ve done a lot, hey!”

I guess it’s up to us now to live the lives he would have wanted. To honour his memory, zest for life and electric attitude.

I will miss you my friend. I will miss who you are to Mr M and I will do my very best to look after him in the way I know you wanted me to. Thank you for the laughs, the inside scoop into Mr M’s psyche and dispensing some of the best hugs I’ve ever had the fortune of experiencing.

May your beautiful soul rest in peace.

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