Bad day, dominated by the sudden, entirely unexpected news of the deaths of two dear, dear friends back in the UK. One died last night, and one, I discovered, back in late October. At moments like this I hate living 'abroad', though only at these moments.
I've spent the later part of the day being deluged by memories of time spent with my departed friends. And the memories are all so vivid, as if I'm also back there with them in that impossibly unreachable past. In a sense this is painful, but since every memory without exception is rich, warm, and usually funny, in a few cases unprintably so, it's also comforting.
Sometimes my students write about events being 'joyful' and I always think the word sounds wrong somehow - way too over the top. But those memories seem to me to deserve the adjective. The thing is though, it's all a bit too much, too rich, for now at least.
Truth to tell, at this point in time I'm not dealing with all this too well - who would?
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