7 years ago I lost my best friend. He was killed in London while walking home from a night at the pub. He was my first boyfriend – from the age of 14 though 17, so most of my high school years. We spent every waking moment together. He lived around the corner and he was there for me during my turbulent teenage years.
Dan was a phenomenal guy. Head boy, captain of the First IV, an all round legend. We were invincible, him and I. One of those people that the world needs more of. At the end of school I decided that I had to get out and experience things (well, people) so I broke Dan’s heart. We weren’t friends for a couple of years and I missed him sorely. Then he moved down country to where I was living. I am forever grateful for the fact that we made up and spent a lot of time together before he moved overseas about 10 years ago. I am grateful because it is the last time I will ever get to spend with him.
After Dan was attacked he was rushed to hospital in a coma and put on life support. They kept him alive for two days so his family could travel over and say goodbye. I remember hearing the news. Dad called me at work and the bottom dropped out of my world. It is hard to imagine anyone so young and vibrant dying, but what made this situation even more difficult to comprehend was the fact that his life was taken violently. The men that killed him were never charged.
I no longer feel bitterness but there are days when I feel hollow. I think back to my childhood and I feel sad that I can’t reach out to Dan and say hi. He wasn’t at my wedding. He’ll never have one of his own. Our kids won’t be friends.
There are some things in life that just aren’t right.
I miss you Dan. I really, really miss you.