Friday, 18 October 2013


I could tell him anything.

Just want to walk outside and ask for a timeout from the universe for a bit while I wrap my head around it. Cam. My first favourite guyo ever. I used to protect him but I couldn't protect him in the end. We just can't believe it, my mum and sisters and Dave have been staying at Lindas place in Sydney, sorting stuff out.

How can I even type? I'm back home now but I can't get up because gravity is too heavy. My mum, my goodness.

He left a note addressed to me. We went to his flat and saw where he did it, he would have felt no pain. I nicked one of his dirty tshirts which I can't let go of. I can't believe it - my mind keeps blocking it out and then it comes in stages.

I was too scared to read your comments on the previous post, scared it would make it real. But I read every single one just now and take comfort in your words, especially those of you who know what it feels like. I wasn't going to post to day because I'm not making sense but just thank you, so much. Words mean a lot.

I'm angry at the world for forcing such expectations on men to achieve and provide and succeed. It's too much, for some. Cam was SMART. Had a few jobs and was always promoted. His sense of humour. His smile. His gorgeous body. He'll never be a dad, never make it past 33. Unfathomable. He was one of my best friends. I could tell him anything. I told him everything.

The last time I saw him he was dressed in a good shirt and pants and I wondered if that was because that's the last time I was ever going to see him and I was right. I saw that shirt again in his cupboard, washed and wrinkled. So he would have ironed it, just for me. Last weekend he and I had huge text exchanges. I was deeply worried.

Last text I sent him was Tuesday afternoon and he was already gone.

I'm not a praying type anymore. But I have a husband and two beautiful boys I adore just as much as I adored Cam so I'm sure I'll keep going. I'm in therapy and on medication and I need everything that I can get because my brother died. Weeping and keening, and then this strange silence. We met some of his friends, who are just so beautiful. And shocked, and sad.

Feels like vultures on my chest, pecking my heart. It's so awful, so bad. I've never felt quite like this before.

He loved cheese and bacon balls. And lawn bowls, apparently. His wishes were to not have a funeral and we're going to honour that. But Cambo you never said anything about a wake my sweetheart. I love you. I love you. I love you. Fuck the world i love you.

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