Our friend Steve passed away on Tuesday night. We knew he was sick, but we thought he'd be around for a while longer. Long enough for a few more conversations about art and music and life, long enough for a few more afternoon parties with kids romping around, with food and wine; all the important things.
Steve, your departure feels quite sudden and shocking, a reminder that death is absolute, no matter how forewarned you are. People might say, and with kindness in their hearts, that with an illness like cancer, it's a blessing that you didn't linger at the end. But I know that you would have liked to have been around for a bit longer. You still had plans. And a wicked sense of humour.
You and Gerard go way, way back, to a life in Tasmania I only know about from stories. Even so, we had our own conversations. Something to be cherished with a friend of your partners. I'm doing my best with the tasks we talked about, although I worry that the bakery won't get the shade of pink you asked for on your cake: the palest of pink, you said, a lustre rather than a colour.
I hope it's a drummer's heaven on the other side, full of interesting people to talk to. And music. Lots of music, especially the weird stuff.