(Ed- Before you begin, this is not a particularly cheery entry. Nor is it funny, or informative. It is also probably too personal so if I were you I wouldn’t bother. You have been warned.)

The tragic suicide of a member of my class in school has had me pondering death recently. It was something which is never far from my mind but is also best avoided. Like forays into alternative porn genres.
This person who I barely knew, and was marginally afraid of, at school had previously sent me a friend request on Facebook and I had hung of, leaving it until eternity. This strange notion that I am partially responsible for his misery, which he couldn’t face any longer, followed me around for days. I think we tend to put ourselves into the worst part of every situation. Of course I can’t be blamed for his death but perhaps I could have been kinder.
Recently I lost my grandmother, myself and my brother and cousins eulogised her, the pride of grandchildren which were her pride and joy. Often towards the end of her life the only joy left in her life.
Today I revisited her home to help in the endless task of cleaning her house, I stood alone in her bedroom where she was at her lowest ebb before she moved to a care assisted home. Tge one window which she stared out of day in, day in let in the afternoon light. I was moved, humbled by this place where we had cared for her, the place where her life had culminated in a strange way. This intersection, culmination was eerie. How can a whole persons life come to this, to one room, one small place? My gran moved to London just after the war when she was in her early twenties and I’m following suit. I think I believe in all that serendipitous pish. Cosmic energy may well exist. My gran died the week after my brother graduated, he was the last of all of us to graduate. It could be coincidence but I think she held out. Generally I’m a sceptic. In case you hadn’t noticed.
It makes me proud to think of myself as her pride and joy. I’m proud to have spoken about her and to have truly known her. I was one of her favourites, I know that in my heart of hearts. Ive spent the last year at home helping my family deal with the situation and try to build our lives alongside. I’m happy to have been here for that year, but I’m happy to be moving on. ( Here – rural Scotland, the middle of fucking nowhere.
A friend of mine, someone who started as a loose acquaintance and through his kindness and mutual interests, dined with me and my girlfriend last night. Last night was a culmination of that friendship, his cancer is terminal and the chances of him living over a month would be slim to nothing. He took the time to talk to me when I was working in a shit bar and I took the time to talk to him because he enjoyed it or maybe needed it. His sence of humour was still evident last night at times but for the most part he could barely speak. My girlfriend and I tried to help him and I think our company was enough to comfort him, just. But again I was struck by how his whole life had come to these moments. In reality the evening was brutal, neither of us knew each other well but we all knew he was very unwell. A month ago he would have come away glowing but we only got round to organising it for now and now it was no use.
There was something inspiring about all of this but it’s gone.
I think I was building to say that I need to go and do my thing now.
My brother made me think about things in a different way recently, explaining at one year old, one year is the whole of your life – at twenty five years old, one year is a twenty fifth of your life. This is why I feel old as hell. Why I am simultaneously dreading and buzzing about moving to London. There is so much I want to do and be part of; sport, volunteering, working, culture, art creating, friends, learning etc. And there is so much I need to sort out.

(All this talk of death,
the impending doom and dread.)

The loose ends that I am not really interweaving but fraying in front of you, are coming together. Perhaps an awareness of death whilst life goes on is the imperative point in all this. I’m not nearly the first to have made it. If I were you I’d have given up long ago but the last paragraph is probably the best one.

(Loose ends which don’t interweave,
and seem to fray instead. )
That these people of varying degrees of separation to me all had their last. It all comes down to that. The moments in between are what you mutter as you go out. The sunlight over the boundless ocean of eternity. The depths are black if you don’t let in the sun.
I don’t know what it is I’m saying.
I’m moving to London and I’m excited and I want life to happen.
I want the sun to shine.

Mr Hummels