I Let You Go

You're a writer. Write something.

I wrote this during and after two weeks of regular hospital and hospice visits, where I sat with my terminal friend, who had been going through chemo since mid-2023, and was told there was nothing more they could do after the cancer had spread. We discussed the funeral with her, what she wanted and how we could help. I, being the writer in the friends group, was asked to write the card. (‘You’re a writer. Write something.’)

This was then edited by a mutual friend and the funeral director.

Initially, she said she found having a funeral a waste of money. I agreed and mentioned she could always donate her body to science.

Later, she changed her mind and let us have a farewell ceremony. It felt good.

Gathered around her in the hospital, we practiced Mad World, the Gary Jules version from Donnie Darko. One of her other friends just happened to have his guitar with him. By then, she had made a list of songs we could sing at the ceremony. Besides Mad World, there was John Lennon’s Working Class Hero, Ride On, by Jimmy MacCarthy in the version made famous by Christy Moore, and Mercedes Benz, from the whirlwind that was Janis Joplin (written with Michael McClure and Bob Neuwirth). I soon realised the songs represented her life journey:

Mad World: Not fitting in at school (I know what that’s like, so singing it was a perfect fit),

Working Class Hero: having to tolerate corrupt employers (we met when working at a call centre),

Ride On kind of represented her traveling on foot through the USA, facing wonders and danger,

and I suppose Mercedes Benz stood for having a laugh about the silliness of it all, with a healthy bit of self-deprecation.

After the ceremony, some of us met at a nearby pub, where a mutual friend told me something that she had recently said, possibly under the influence of the morphine:

‘When I die, I’m gonna donate my body to science fiction.’

In the quiet of the hospice room, I sat on the couch, listening as my dear friend’s breathing slowly went from troubled to laboured to peaceful, and I wrote some words. As a writer, I know how inefficient and inadequate words can be. So, sitting there, I did what writers do and ate my words. I mean, edited … these words, which became a eulogy.

Now that all tomorrow’s parties belong to yesterday

I let you go

Go, on your awfully big adventure

When we said goodbye, you whispered to me,

‘Enjoy those concerts you’ve been looking forward to’

I replied,

‘They’ll be great, but nothing compared to the ones you’re going to’

You told me you were sorry you had to go

That’s so you, to apologise for something like that

Because it wasn’t really your plan, now was it? And neither was it anyone else’s

We’re all feeling rather rebellious about the whole thing

But it is what it is

Now that you’re unpacked for the journey, it’s not long to go

Eternity, you see, is not an awfully long stretch of time; eternity is beyond time

We will hold you in our hearts

Feeling thankful and rather pissed off, as one does in times like these

And so, with grace and love, we imagine with no great effort all your fussing and moaning

And we are forever grateful for the times we had, sharing life with such a sweet soul

And, once we can face it, each and every one of us will say, with love,

I let you go