The Lady

One of the things, that has to really pull you back-- I mean, no matter how close to the edge you are-- is thinking about the people at your funeral. It's no secret that a lot of very depressed people think about their funeral. Hey, I did it a lot. I confess I got a real kick out of making a playlist of music that seemed to set the mood I wanted, imagining the perfect goodbye. Until I thought about all the people who wouldn't be there. The people I hadn't met yet. There had be to some asshole who had side swiped me on the tuggeranong parkway, or perhaps been rear ended by me, reading the obits without a glimmer of difference in their life. There would also be some colleagues with whom I shared a relationship filled with bad hygiene jokes and complaints of poor working conditions; but we really clicked and laughed deep belly laughs together, so the conditions were worth it. There would be an awful lot of people who didn't care so much about me, and there would be few people who I would deeply miss not knowing. The one who should be sitting in the front row, the one who would come to be the love of my life, should have been there. But instead, at the time this playlist played they would be out meeting other people, never registering that there was seat for them at my funeral- that they had been deeply, deeply missed in my life. They might meet someone who mentions a "friend of a friend" just killed themselves: smile that sad, empathetic smile, and consider how lucky they are that that doesn't happen to their friends and loved ones. That's what stopped me every time, I think. The ardent belief that more had to be coming-- and that even though life didn't feel like it would ever get better (while I was clicking and dragging Missy Higgins), I still found myself waiting for and missing him before it finally did.

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