On the Day You Went Away

We went back to the place we last saw him. Deck One. On the wharf. It was a dryer night than tonight, maybe a better, more spectacular sunset. It was the three of us. Tonight, there were two. 

We talked about him, and how much he was missed. We skated over what happened, or why it happened. There's no point asking those questions. It is what is. He's not here anymore. Simples. 

Doesn't mean we don't feel him about the place, or still talk to him, often berating him for passing without any due notice. Mind you, he'd probably like that. We just hope, whatever happened, was quick and as painless as possible. 

I know he'd be berating me for listening to Wendy Matthews tonight. "Come on Panda, pony up, give it some wellie. What about King Stingray... or Amyl and the Sniffers? You can do better than Wendy Matthews. 

Well, they played Xavier Rudd and The Church at your funeral, I'd hit back at him. 

He would have approved of the meal. Some light tapas. Prawns (have to say, I've had better, but I love my seafood). A lovely scallop ceviche. Arancini. Corn ribs, which I like to think you'd be as bemused by as me - but they were a highlight. This was washed down with a Bloody Mary for me and a glass of wine for Elle. We toasted you. We remembered you. And we hope you know just how bloody mad we are that you're not about anymore.

But it's a contemplative song for a contemplative day.

There's no tears, just a lingering sadness from what happens when somebody is taken well before their time. We've had a year to get used to your absence. 

Tomorrow I'll get out the harder rock. Tonight, it's Wendy Matthews.

Tomorrow, I might put on Talking Heads This Must Be the Place and remember driving down the Stuart Highway with it playing on the radio, singing along gently, smiling at the glorious weather. 

Just know that Darwin is infused with you. You're always just around the corner, at the bar, on the dancefloor, at the Deckie, down the Cav, at 1995 getting a coffee, with your Yeti in hand, greeting the baristas by name. We can feel you, even if we can't see you. The Darwin Festival starts next week. We know you're bummed to miss it. 

We gently celebrated you tonight. 

We know, wherever you are, that you're free. And happy. 

Today's song: