F*ck Summer

The weather had started to warm up, I had boot camp the next morning, Christmas was on it's way and youngest bro would be turning 20 soon. Then dadsy called me to tell me that Pa had died and that week I cried like I never had before. I really felt sadness, I felt loss, I was starting to realise I would not be able to pop in to see him, to stir him up, to do those small things to make him happy.

The weather was hot and I was out at the Mawson club, celebrating gf1's 24th birthday. We joked and laughed and gossiped and I headed home in good spirits. Dadsy called me the next morning to tell me that Tom had died and I cried by back door, cried by the fridge and cried while The Hun got out of bed to give me a hug.

The weather was balmy and we'd celebrated youngest bro's 21st and dadsys 50th. We sat out in the sun, drinking and relaxing, keeping an eye on Max who just wasn't acting right. I've detailed the problems, our attempts to save him, our last straws and hopes held - but I wept quietly after dadsy called me to tell me that Max had died. And I cried, choking and gasping, in the toilets of the bowling alley, in a way I hadn't since Pa had passed away.

Last night was cool when I got a call from a friend, telling me that our friend was not well, that no news was not, in fact, good news. Today was the warmest in a while, the kind of day where everyone comments on Summer finally arriving. Today I got a call to tell me that our friend had died.

He'd completed his two rounds of severe treatment and undergone an operation to remove what tumour was left. There was a complication, an infection, gangrene, pneumonia I think. A drug induced coma that he woke out of, to utter amazement, but swept back down under.

Twenty five.

Twenty f*cking five years old.

I've passed on the message, promised to keep people up to date, let my boss know I will need a day off. I've been asked how I am, I've been messaged, and emailed, and SMS'd, and called.

And I'm yet to shed a tear.

I do not think it is real, I do not think I have made the connection, I do not think I realise that this is what it is.

When I was in year seven I was teased for not crying at farewells.

When I was in uni I shed only a few tears at my Grandmothers funeral, only when I saw my mother stumbling back up the aisle, grasping at my brother for support. Every so often for a year or two after that I would feel the sorrow well up, realise I hadn't cried, I hadn't mourned, I hadn't missed her like I should.

The other night I thought to myself how far I had come, to finally be able to feel my sadness like a normal person, to realise a loss is a loss.

But have I?

It's like I can see it, but I can't feel it.

But I know I will. I'm sure I will. I hope to dear f*cking God that I will.