So what have I learned...
I dunno. Death is shite? I suppose it feels odd that already it's been a year since Stuart left us, with it still so present in our minds. I'm sure it's the same for all who knew him but not a day goes by he doesn't cross my mind. And luckily it's normally never the sad times at the end I think about, it's seeing him around town or going out with him to the cinema where he'd give me a big old bear hug and we'd lovingly take the piss out of each other all night. I remember his big booming voice and his pig shrieks and all kinds of miscellaneous bollocks he'd spout throughout a moment spent in his company. It was just such a joy to hang out with him and it can be such a rare thing to know you're going to just be able to relax and have fun and laugh yourself sore around someone - and when that goes missing from your life, it can really fucking suck.
Stuart's passing was a lot of very new feelings for me. I'd never really experienced death before and I think for a lot of people it becomes an extremely reflective, analytical process. When Stuart died and for the year that followed, I started rewinding in my head to all these different things. Messages we sent each other on Facebook years ago - was I being an asshole to him? That time I said no when he asked if I wanted to go to the cinema. The last time I saw him up and about and healthy - should I have stayed out later to hang out with him more? The last time I saw him before he died - did I say everything I should have and make it clear to him how much he means to me?
It's ridiculous really.
Of course, a lot of the time you don't know these final moment will be your final moments with someone. If I'd known the last time I'd see Stuart was going to be the last time, perhaps we'd have done something more meaningful than sitting eating brownies in the hospice watching The Jeremy Kyle show. But in a way, I do like that that was our last meeting. Seems more fitting.
I think about his funeral a lot, and how much of a mishmash of emotions it was. I didn't cry when I got the news about his death, I was just sort of numb, I guess. But I knew being at the funeral was going to be something else entirely. Similarly with the diagnosis, it wasn't till I saw him in the hospice that it actually became all too real and I had a bit of a weep in the corridor. And then at the funeral when they brought Stuart's coffin down, I was done for. And then like any funeral - like any life, I suppose - the rest of the day was this weird new blend of sad and happy.
Sappy.
Yeah...
The weather was incredible and I sat in the garden with my best friends and some people I hadn't seen in years and some people I'd just met that day and we all just chatted. Sometimes about Stuart, sometimes just about what we were up to in life. And as nice as that was and as sorely needed after the events we'd all gone through, you did look around the room and just feel that someone was missing. All these people, it just felt a bit wrong without him. He should have been there.
Not at his funeral obviously, I'm sure he probably would have found that a bit unsettling.
The year that followed after that has been an odd one. The event itself made me rekindle a lot of closeness with some of my friends that just hadn't been there since we'd all scattered around after the end of high school. Having said that, it's very easy to feel quite lonely about stuff like this. Like you want to talk to somebody about it but you don't know if they want to even think about it at this stage. People I'd ordinarily go to with problems were dealing with grief in their own way, it's been quite a difficult time to navigate. But in the bigger picture, Stuart's death taught me a lot about not leaving things unsaid and just making it clear to the people in your life that they mean something to you while you still can. One of the last conversations I had with Stuart was about creativity and projects and how he wished he'd done more with his ideas while he was healthy. It struck home quite a bit for me, being someone who often doesn't "get on with it". Throughout the time I've known Stuart he's been inspirational and supportive to me. If I ever came to him with a film idea he'd want to help out immediately, even if it was just a crappy little Doctor Who parody we'd film in a quarry. He would read scripts I'd send him and always want be involved in anything we'd do. So it seemed right that he'd inspire me after he passed away. I think from here on out I just want to work in a way that Stuart would be proud of. It doesn't feel right me sitting on my arse doing nothing when someone like Stuart gets his opportunities taken away from him.
The other side of the analytical process after a death is... well, where the heck is Stuart now? It becomes quite obvious why people believe in the afterlife. It's so much more comforting to imagine Stuart has moved on to some other astral plane and is sipping a beer somewhere in luxury. And nothing makes me happier than the idea that maybe one day I'll get to see him again. That mental image has brought me a smile or two over this year. But regardless of what I believe in, I still have his funeral card on my drawer in my bedroom with his big cheesing mug on the front and now and again I nod at it and say "awrite" like a right basket case. I guess I like to think that maybe somewhere, somehow he can hear it.
Sometimes I think I can hear a hideous pig shriek on the wind...
...but that might just be 'cos I live near Sighthill.
Stuart, ya lanky shite. It still doesn't feel real that you're gone. If you are in heaven you must have pretty good wifi so let's hope you can see these words... We all miss you down here. It's not the same without you. I'm gonna crack open my Jack Daniels and have a drink for you. In memory of you. In celebration of you. But also just 'cos I like Jack Daniels. I may even dust off the old Macbeth DVD.
...maybe.
Miss ya, Stu.
p.s. I do wish that our last photo together on our 'See Friendship' page I looked a bit more cheery... DAMN THOSE CHIQUITOS.
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