Saturday, August 23, 2008
This Doesn't Happen to Me.
Nothing happens to your friendship circle, you keep everyone close and nothing shall ever go wrong. I was woken up Monday morning by my frantic Mumere checking who I knew at the snow over the weekend, and drowsily I replied that I knew of no one. I was passed out, flat on my back and could not care less as to other people's movements at 6.30am.
At 9.15am I woke again to the sound of my phone vibrating itself stupid on my floor. Checking it, I had the grand total of six missed called from one of my closet girlfriends. So I rang her back and I've regretted it ever since.
I did have a friend at the snow last weekend, Thomas Carr-Boyd was tragically killed after falling off an ice cornice near Blue Lake, a beautiful wild area of back country also known for it's danger.
Whilst Tom was much older than I, and also left school before I began we forged our friendship at parties, rugby matches and general run-amok nights in North Sydney. He was one of the special few that I mentioned in the post entitled 'I said Yeah, Yeah, Yeah' and kept me entertained often at the Carrington where he consistently forgot where the bathrooms were.
It's a tragic fact that good people die way to young, but I never for a second thought that one of those people would be mine. Looking at the newspapers, the television coverage, the radio annoucements. They are not talking about my friend, my friend is different to what they say. My friend is the one I remember with a rugby ball or jokingly teasing his Mum. Not the boy who 'took a stupid risk' or 'played the fool'.
If this week has taught me anything it is that I cannot live without my family, especially my sister. Tom's older brother was there to watch him fall last weekend, with extensive coverage and attention paid to his valiant efforts to ski near-vertical to save his brother. I was lucky enough on Monday to still have my girl around, to hold my hand as I called my best friend to break the news and their to make me strong cups of tea. She even brushed my hair and finished my sentences when I lost the abilty to talk.
And on Monday she'll drive me to say goodbye, and then she'll drive me home again. She'll pass me the Kleenex and make excuses for my red eyes.
So, what doesn't happen to people you know has now happened to us. And I've learnt to hug that little tighter, kiss the cheek a little more meaningfully, smile a little brighter when I say goodbye.
Vale, Tom. x