Archive for March, 2013

Kaki passed away today. So that’s another life snuffed out much too early, another friend lost to the big beyond. Her life was stolen from her by MND – Motor Neuron Disease – and I know she was devastated when she got the diagnosis, she fought the disease with all she had and with the help of her amazing family and friends. But it’s a shitty, shitty illness. And we knew that it would finally win.

Today it won. But no matter what – it can’t take away the wonderful memories of a quirky, warm, funny and beautiful woman, a woman with a brilliant story-telling talent and a humour that still has me sniggering at the most inopportune moments at the memories.

Memories… I think of her at the strangest times. Today she was on my mind as I was on the 71 tram passing Schwarzenbergplatz. I thought about a story she told us about her daughter Georgiana. And I giggled. And I was stared at. But it was totally worth the stares.

Kaki was not one of those soppy and irritatingly doting mums whose kids could do no wrong, and she had a way of describing motherhood with a slightly bemused look at the many changes her children brought to her life. And every story also showed how much she loved them. Because of her, I wanted to be a mum. I wanted to laugh at my own kids… Perhaps not the best reason to want kids. But somehow, I think Kaki would get that.

Kaki, I’m going to miss you. We had no contact the last few years. You went back to the US where your parents could care for you. And sadly, I never had the chance to visit you. In spite of this – our long-distance relationship – you leave a great big hole in my life with your much-too-early death. There is now a Kaki-shaped hole in the fabric of the world. And that’s a hole that nobody else can fill.

I hope you are happy. I hope you are free. I hope you are with Gerard, Don, mum and Colin, and that Orion is resting his head on your lap, that together with the motley crew of friends, family and dog I lost to Death last year you are having a drink and a laugh and sharing stories. And I hope you can see your kids and see how great they have turned out thanks to you and Howard and their own personalities and that you are truly proud.

I miss you.

I’ve been missing you for a long time.

I’ll keep thinking about you and keep sniggering at your stories. You were great! Thank you for your friendship.


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