It is hard to remember that it was real people who put a soundtrack to my childhood, when all I ever knew of them was through song and showreel.
My childhood has hung itself and died. My childhood committed suicide.
This is one of the rare, tragic times when we realise that a person is much, much more than just a person. A person is a thought. A voice. A shaper of lives. A saver of lives.
And this is why we mourn them, and remember them, and the parts of ourselves which they saved without ever knowing.
In the end, a child grows up to lose their parent, and childhood grows up to lose its song. Remembrance is the most powerful thing in the world, but it can’t bring these back.
”Goddamit, Chester. Why did you have to do it? Your words saved me, why couldn’t they save you?”
We all wish they had. We’ll always wish they had.