Farewell Oobi

Yesterday I went to Oobi’s diary and confirmed what I strongly suspected.  She died last week.  I’ve never had a friend die before, and yes, I guess I did consider her a friend.  Sure, we never had long phone chats or anything, but then none of my offline friends get to read my suicidal diary posts, either.  Nor would they want to. 

We were planning to meet when I was in Adelaide last July.  We’d exchanged emails and talked on the phone, but then she had a bad week and it just didn’t happen. 

That’s that, I suppose.  It’s still sinking in how sudden things end.  I live so much of my life discounting the present and looking to the future.  It all ends, and you look back and that’s all there is; those little present moments that seemed merely amusing or frivolous or concerning at the time.  That’s what a life is.  Pictures of the cats sunning themselves in the garden.  Arguments with family.  Delight in little purchases with money that probably should have been saved for bills. 

Jenne’s talent was for knowing things; mine is for feeling.  I felt she wasn’t doing at all well.  It felt like she was suffering a lot and just wanted to leave.  That’s why I didn’t wish her a speedy recovery, just sent my love.  Then a few days ago I tried to check in on her, and all I got back from the cosmos was a big empty "Jenne not found". 

I knew. 

Jenne understood how bad life can get, when you’re chronically ill in mind and body.  I was always surprised, though, at how much beauty she created out of her life anyway.  It didn’t fit with my strict and sober upbringing.  Owning pets or making art has always been seen as wasteful and frivolous in my family.  But imagine if she hadn’t!  Maybe she had it right. 

I’m missing you Jenne.  Thanks for bringing some colour into my life.