Coming out of  Tullen (customs) at Arlanda was the first pang of sad for this visit, my first trip back since you took yourself out of the game Emma. I stood there scanning the arrival hall, and looked to the cafe for you where you were the last time I was here. In my memory I could see your sweet face, and the proud sense of accomplishment that covered it, as you had driven out to pick me up. You were practicing so you could get your drivers license, no small task at 32. You asked me if I was scared to ride with you, I assured you I had nerves of steel, but they have not been steely enough this last year and a half, I sink on the inside as I acknowledge and face the reality that you are gone.

You had invited me to stay with you the next time I came to Sweden.  And well, I hardly think you can host me at your grave site. Though the thought of me rolling out a sleeping bag, and cuddling up next to your grave stone is rather humorous somehow, but it’s awfully chilly outside. I could bring a lawn chair, sip tea and bring you a coffee and some cigarettes, thought I always hated it when you smoked.

November 28th, I woke up with a jolt at 5 AM. I remembered that I had strangled myself to death in my first act at the final Hootchy Kootchy show.  I had totally forgotten that I’d sung “The Silencer” and then slowly acted out an auto erotic asphyxiation and died on the stage…..

So this is what we, the ones still standing, are left with when you decide to take yourself out. A slab of stone and an eternal inner dialogue with you, asking why? Suicide may end what we presume and imagine was an endless pain for you,  and now somehow this pain has been transferred to us, the ones still here.

How could we have changed this out come? How could we have been better friends, siblings, parents or lovers? What if we had seen you the day before or the hours before and had said just the right magical thing that would have kept you here for another day and maybe,  just maybe,  you would have changed your mind,  or simply have just delayed your action. This is what we do privately and when we see each other again, we pick a the wound you left and we try to piece together a puzzle that we can never make sense of.

Visiting “you” at the Katarina Kyrkogard in Sodermalm,  just around the corner from Södra Teatren were we shared such joy, creativity and love, only adds to the peculiarity along with the big fat rabbit that was hopping around the headstones nibbling on the few remaining blades of grass that summer brought. Is he your new Blue Bunny?

The magic is gone the colors have faded, its cold outside and the bunny you once cavorted with is no longer blue, but a drab brown. The only color remaining here come from the red roses your friends, family and lovers continue to lay at your grave trying to keep you alive like they were the blood of life. Candles fickler in this graveyard on this cold November night,  I came with Scotty, Karin and Johnny,  now almost 11 months old. We have come from Kajsa’s jewelry opening, our lives continue,  but we all feel the hole that is there. I thought about how when Charlie Brown would go trick or treating, how all his friends got candy,  Charlie always got a rock in his candy bag, that’s how I felt visiting “you” today Emma.


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