Bad News

I went to a funeral the other day. I didn’t know him very well, but he was a part of my life. He was the younger brother of one of my oldest friends. I have known her and her family since I was twelve, which is more years than I care to count.

We went to the same school, we had been on holiday together, I had just returned to Athens properly and was getting to know him when he fell ill. We all hoped against all hope, but he still died. And on Tuesday we buried him, and I couldn’t look his parents in the eye because there is nothing you can say.

All I can do lately is remember what I knew of him. He was smart, very smart. I was jealous of how good he was at maths at school. He studied computers and was a complete computer nerd, reading linux manuals on the beach. He was very shy and discreet; we never knew a thing about his private life. He was calm, dependable and funny. When we were younger he looked just like a male version of his sister. Until he grew a beard and we told him he looked like a long curly-haired Jesus. I remember how I always felt comfortable with him. He truly was a nice guy.

And every time I think about it I want to cry. For him, his parents, and his sister. My very good friend who is breaking into little pieces in front of my eyes and I can’t do anything about it.

Sorry if I depressed anybody, I couldn’t help it.