Have you ever watched a film that delivers a twist that makes your head spin? Actually, I know you have, Sarah. You took me to London to see a special screening of “The Sixth Sense” in the tiny, secret Planet Hollywood mini cinema, in 1999. There were platters of chicken wings and everything. It was like being famous. So funny. Without experiencing the hype or having heard anything about the movie before hand, we didn’t see the ending coming at all. Blew our tiny minds, it did. We buzzed with excitement on the train home; discussing and re-evaluating every scene, from different perspectives, loudly, to the chagrin of our fellow passengers. Excellent times.
It’s less fun doing it in real life, and much harder now that you aren’t really here to discuss my thoughts and findings. Your death was that shocking twist, changing everything in an instant. Casting all previous events and relationships in a thoroughly different light. An unexpected, unpleasant and quite unnecessary second act conclusion that would have had viewers complaining in their droves had this been a movie. It’s a ridiculous symptom of my over consumption of cliched drama, that your sudden passing felt like it should signal the start of a battle. You know, like the traumatic event that makes Batman turn into… Batman. The event that galvanizes the hero. The dramatic device that pushes the protagonist forward in his or her quest. You were the important character, dashed away suddenly, leaving the audience to gasp in uproar. The entire axis of a the story irrevocably changed. The future unpredictable, and scary.
I can imagine a few of us wanted to slay the beast that took you away. I don’t think I am the only one who wanted to punch a big hole right through the centre of the universe and warn it in no uncertain terms to NEVER TOUCH THE PEOPLE I LOVE AGAIN. Because that’s more cinematic than just crying and searching every crevice of Google for the possible causes of your death.
Sure, I’ve watched too much Doctor Who. But so did you too. I like to think you’d have understood.
Because we just don’t know why you left us, Sarah. I don’t blame anyone for this. I have read the report and it’s was pretty much impossible for them to say. I understand, but it doesn’t help. It just leaves us with a frighteningly mysterious blank space looming over us in place of an actual reason. No tangible villain to direct our anger towards. Cancer is a cruel, intolerable arsehole. Heart Attacks and Car Accidents are absolute evil bastards. But what monster took you, so suddenly? The Hooded Claw?
So, anyway, I will go back to the everyday. Wake up from more dreams in which you sometimes know that you are dead, but where in others I only realise halfway through our conversation. When I tell you I see your face fill with sadness and assume the expression; “Why?”
I’m sorry, Sarah. I just don’t know. But I promise you that we all fight that monster for you every day, whatever it may be.
Love you always