I have been hiding from my blog for months; desperately trying to hide from my emotions, and myself. To be honest, I would still be avoiding writing if it wasn't for Facebook. Tomorrow it will be six years since Laura was taken from us. People say with time the pain dulls, but it is a sharp and cold today as it was then. The sorrow, fear, despair and guilt I felt when she died come rushing back and my heart breaks anew.
But the pain doesn't come empty handed; memories come flooding forth, so bright and clear it's as if no time has passed. So instead of writing about grief, I have decided to dig out some old pieces I wrote about Laura and allow myself to feel happy that I knew her.
The first day I met Laura will always be one of the happiest memories I have. Because that was the day one of the most beautiful people I have ever met came into my life. And she did so in true Laura fashion.
It was my first day back at John of Gods Day Hospital and, after less than ten minutes, I hated it. I should point out that group therapy is not my favorite thing, to put it mildly. I was not excited to be back in Day Hospital and I was of the opinion that I really should have pressed that knife harder against my skin.
I was slumped in a chair, as far back from the circle as possible, focusing all my angst at a spot on the floor, when the door opened and a girl strolled in. Yes, she was even late the first day I met her.
This particular group was mainly comprised of middle aged manic depressives and a few older people from the wards, so my initial thought was simply ‘Oh thank fuck, someone my age’. Then she sat down and I really looked at her and my second thought was 'She is amazing’. Sitting cross-legged in the chair, wearing big white plastic sunglasses with a bandanna around her hair, tattoos and scars openly on display, converse on her feet… and a pair of Betty Boop pajamas. Pajamas, to group therapy, in the middle of the day. She let out what I can only describe as the dirtiest laugh ever heard and I was awestruck.
I watched her for the rest of the morning, fascinated and intimidated by her and too shy to dare to speak to her. She was loud and honest and funny, and unapologetically herself. When we stopped for lunch she ran out the door and vanished and when she didn’t reappear I thought, well there goes the one interesting thing about this place, and resigned myself to six weeks of boredom.
Luckily for me, she came back.
One day Laura came to my apartment with Logan, her son. We sat in my room and talked about nothing, watching as Logan wandered around and played with all my random bits of movie memorabilia. It was an ordinary visit from my friend, I couldn’t even tell you what we spoke about, it was so wonderfully unimportant.
After a while I went to the kitchen to get something for Logan to eat, Digestives I believe, and when I came back to the room they were both gone. I walked back out into the hall, checked the spare room, the kitchen, the bathroom. But there was no sign of them. I called out, and ran to the front window to see if her car was still there, and it was. Baffled now I went back to the bedroom and that’s when I heard it. A giggle. And then again. I stooped down to peer under the bed and there they were. Both lying perfectly still, tucked under my bed and trying not to laugh.
And that was how everyday was with Laura, even the ordinary became that little bit special.
