The living dead – A letter to Amos.

You died.

You did the one thing I needed you not to do. You breathed your last breath and heaved your last sigh and blinked your last blink, and slipped into the afterlife, like your life here with us meant nothing. I can still hear your voice, a year after you’ve been gone. I’d give away all I have to see you again. I miss your smile. I miss your terrible jokes and your thoughtfulness. I miss your love. The world is colder without you, and I don’t know where to find my sunshine again. A piece of me died with you that day, and I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t know how to live when a part of me is dead. I don’t know how to breathe when the air you left us is full of questions, conspiracies, politicking and hatred. I don’t know how to breathe when the air is thick with uncertainty and when I breathe in grief and breathe out grief. I wish I had more answers, but you died. You did the one thing I needed you not to do.

You’re no longer with us.

You’re gone, far away and never coming back. Nothing prepared me for your departure. No tickets, no itinerary, no warning. One day we were together and the next we weren’t. You’re not here to see the mess you left behind; your colleagues and frienemies have ran us all into the ground. You’re not here to see the destruction and greed, the lack of urgency and the pain. You’re no longer here to answer tough questions and deal with being on the wrong side of history. You’re no longer with us. You’re not here to hear how they hate(d) you, how they saw you as nothing more but a cog in the machine of a devlish system. But, almost gladly,  you’re not here to perpetuate that system, and maybe that’s for the better. You’re no longer with us, but your actions (and inactions) haunt me daily.

You passed on.

You passed from one life to the next, painfully so. I wish I had known when you were leaving. I wish I had known. It’s been a year since that hot winter’s day when we found you. A year since my heart stopped and my lungs emptied out and my soul left my body for a while. It’s been a year since I saw your face. It’s been a whole year. So why does it feel like it happened yesterday? I can still hear my mother crying, I can still see her pain.

I’d like to celebrate you, but I’m not sure I know how. You did the one thing I needed you not to do. I knew parts of you they’ll never know, and I’ll cherish those forever. But I can’t celebrate you until I find my sunshine again. So for now, while the police investigate, and your frienemies rejoice in your death and wreak havoc on this land, I’ll say a quick prayer for your soul and hope that we’ll meet again. I miss you. Bring back the pieces of my heart when you have a minute.

Love you forever. (And no, you can’t rule from the grave, soz.)

Vimbi.