Five Songs For Darren

True Colours - Cyndi Lauper
Dancing Queen – Abba
It’s Raining Men - The Weathergirls
September - Earth, Wind and Fire
I Don’t Want To Talk About It - Rod Stewart

Foreword

I want to be crystal clear here. I am an atheist who doesn’t believe in heaven, hell or the afterlife. I think we get one shot at life and then we are dust. I don’t believe in spirits, or ghosts or souls. So I don’t think for one minute that our dear departed Darren is going to read this letter. It just made sense to me to write this piece this way.

This blog post discusses grief and ways of grieving. If you find the subject matter distressing, can I suggest you reach out to someone? Lifeline can be contacted on 13 11 14, beyondblue can be contacted on 1300 22 4636 and GriefLine can be contacted on 1300 845 745.

A letter to Darren

It’s been a year.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year, but the calendar doesn’t lie. In my heart and in my head, it still feels like it was just weeks ago that I called in on a Friday night, to sit on your bed watching Home and Away, listening to you talk proudly about Luke and Jack (and bitch about everyone else).

If I’m not paying attention on the way home, sometimes I find the car turning toward your place. And then I remember that it’s not your place any more. And then I feel your loss again. Over and over it happens. It doesn’t really hurt any less than it did a year ago, but I have stopped crying every night on the drive home. That’s when I think about you most - when I’m in the car. I don’t know why that is. There’s so much I don’t know.

I called this letter five songs for Darren because my precious memories of you are tied strongly to music.

Even though we knew each other from a really young age, when we first started primary school, we first became close when were part of the high school musical Pippin, in year 8 or 9. We would have been 14 or 15. Those were fun times.

My next musical memory of you is when we were reunited after about 20 years without contact. When school ended in the mid-80s, we seemed to all just fade away from each other. Thank goodness for Facebook. I remember feeling really excited when your name popped up as a suggested friend. I couldn’t wait to re-connect.

Our first outing after that was so much fun. Australia Day celebrations at Club Festi where we laughed our heads off and danced our arses off.

And then of course there were your Friday Facebook posts. Every Friday morning you’d post a song to encourage all friends and family to celebrate Friday. We all miss your Friday posts. We miss you.

I want to tell you about the five songs. Your beloved family chose three perfect songs for your funeral. True Colours, Dancing Queen and It’s Raining Men. They also organised a hot pink coffin decorated with donuts. You would have loved it, it was so you.

Those three songs are so you too. I can remember you singing True Colours to me once. I tried to join in but you shooshed me and held your finger up like some kind of shield against my voice while you sang it at me. And you sang the whole damn song too.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPn0KFlbqX8

I’m pretty sure we danced to Dancing Queen at Club Festi, and I feel like you shared this as part of your Friday Facebook posts on a fairly regular basis.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFrGuyw1V8s

And of course It’s Raining Men was perfect for you, the biggest gay in the village. Even before Grindr it rained men for you. You were unstoppable once you got the app you big slut.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5aZJBLAu1E

But you won’t know about the other two songs because you weren’t here when they became significant.

On the day you died I was home alone on a Friday night, music playing  and drinks flowing, having a wee party on my own, and September came on. I was having a full-on boogie in the kitchen, having a whale of a time, when I spotted the message from Lindy. Poor Lindy, having to break the news to me.

So instead of dancing, I was sobbing. Sobbing to September, pieces of my heart breaking off. So much raw pain and grief. I remember howling like a wounded animal (I’m so sorry Lindy) and the song played on and on.

I fucking love that song, but the association with your death made it impossible for me to enjoy it. Every time it came on I’d quickly turn it off and move on to another track. A few months ago, I was able to listen to it again without having a cry, and I let this dance number back into my life. I sealed the deal by dancing to it at my 50^th birthday party. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gs069dndIYk

And then I Don’t Want To Talk About It is what got me through. Which is weird, because I don’t even like Rod Stewart that much.

So much bad stuff had happened to me in the months before your death (Dad died, I had various health issues), I felt really overwhelmed when we lost you. I was teetering on the brink of an emotional breakdown as it was. Losing you almost tipped me over the edge. Rather than talk about it, I felt like the only path to survival was to contain it. Holding it all in helped me hold it together.

To help me keep it all in, I got into a routine.

On the drives to and from work I would play I Don’t Want To Talk About It and sing along if I could. In the early weeks I would just cry my eyes out, and it’s really fucking hard to cry and sing at the same time. Then the crying ebbed and the singing took over. Over and over I would play it, and over and over I would sing it. I didn’t want to talk about it, but apparently I wanted to sing about it. Have I mentioned that I don’t even really like Rod Stewart?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-uAdxpj-KY

And then one day, I’d had enough. I was done with Rod Stewart and I moved on to other songs.

It’s been nice this week to go back and listen to these five songs, and feel again all of things that I associate with them. Looking back hasn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. These songs keep me connected to my memories of you

I still don’t want to talk about it much, and I have stopped singing about it, and now, I am just really happy to be able to write about it.

If you really could read this I would tell you that I’m so sad and angry that you left us you fucking bitch. And I miss you. And I'd ask you questions, like are there donuts in heaven? And what did you do with my spare set of keys?  

And I would tell you that it’s getting better now and I’m starting to remember how to be happy again. I still miss you but I am happy.

And I know that you would be happy for me. You’d probably roll your eyes and tell me to snap out of it, but you’d be happy for me. I know you would. 

Love, your friend Leanne

P.S. I inherited your fish, you know the aggressive little bastards that I hated and that you said hated me. When I got to your house your brothers were draining your big fish tank and your precious fish were in a Tupperware container with the lid on! Well guess what? Those fish are all dead now too. The little bastards didn’t take to my tank and they dropped off one by one in the months after you did. I mourned each little death like it was massive deal, expending so much emotional energy on each little cichlid corpse. I bet it would have made you laugh to see me sooking over your bastard fish.