A Wake And Introspection
Tuesday, December 22, 2009 I went to a wake for a friend on Sunday evening.
Dougal and I shared some intimate heart-to-hearts, but we had not seen much of each other over the last year. Still, I thought of him often, and it was a shock to hear that he had passed away from complications with the H1N1 flu just shy of his 32nd birthday.
I wish I knew what to say about it. I usually have so much to say about everything, but not with regard to this.
Death is so entangled with every other part of life for me, especially during this frozen pocket of dark days in December, and it feels as though all of the threads of this story are buried too deep in the fabric's pile.
The pub, a favourite of Dougal's, proffered up a bottle of Jameson's irish whiskey and glasses filled with cigarettes of his brand. We took turns standing together and telling stories about him: his fierce sense of adventure, his search to belong, his generous spirit.
It made me think about how we narrate the stories that once belonged to the dead, how we lift them up and make them shine brighter, if somewhat artificially, for a while. We tell ourselves that we can be greater, are greater, which is both true and untrue.
I wondered how my story would be narrated one day. The hope is that I will be old enough to have few people left who could speak of me like that. It makes me uncomfortable to hear my adventures recounted by other people. I am very territorial about my place in time.
By the end of the evening, I knew a different Dougal than the one who so needed to tell me his secrets. There were photographs of a Dougal that others there had known since childhood. There were stories that surprised me with his courage.
He has been gifted with freedom from a body that had not served him well in some time, and I wish him well.
We'll keep a spot open for you on the pub's patio come summer, Dougal. Cheers.
Reader Comments (17)
I'm sorry about your friend. Death is just sad. Not much more to say.
Your photographs are so melancholy. Did you do anything special to the black and white? Are they from the iphone?
Neil, I took the photos with my Nikon D60 without the flash, because I hate the look created by the built-in flash in dark rooms. They were originally in colour, but I black-and-whited them in Photoshop to bring out details the muddy colour was hiding. Other than that, I left them grainy and fairly dark. I like their moodiness.
I think most of us are thinking about what our own wakes will be like. I think we gave Dougal a great send-off though.
I have a lot of hair.
I'm sorry about your friend. I love the photos. Sad and kind of timeless.
I love how you captured the wake of our friend, in both a public and intimate way. I hope it will be some time before we have to do it again, and hope we all get together on happier terms this upcoming year.
JIll
I'm sorry for your loss.
It is a weird and wondrous thing, a wake. I've always found it odd the way we lift up those who have passed. As if the things we loved (the whole messy lot of it) wasn't good enough in the end.
You've got me thinking. Thank you.
This was such a thoughtful reflection. What a sad and unfair thing, though... I'm sorry to hear it.
I don't think I've commented here before, but I'm sorry to hear about your friend. Very, very sorry.
This is a beautiful tribute to your friend. I'm so sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry about your friend. I'm glad the wake was a good one (relatively).
I am sorry for your loss of a friend. However, the way you wrote this entry brought a tear to my eye, and I'd never met the man.
Death is just another part of the cycle and I am glad that our friends understand that it is GOOD to celebrate the life of one who dies. We are each of us something different to each other and the sharing of those bits and pieces helps fill in the empty spot left by the friend who is gone.
Cheers Dougal.
I'm so sorry about your friend.
I'm so sorry :( I've never had a close friend die, but cannot relate. So not cool, though.
I LOVE that photo of the Palinode.
There's a very thin line that separates life and death. We should always remember our own vulnerability and give our best at every waking moments. I'm sorry about your friend. Life is indeed short.
Keep posting stuff like this i really like it.