A tale of love and loss

 

It was on my birthday, 20th August (2015), that I received the news. My dear friend, Lorraine Nicholson, had ended her life, suicide. I was in Scotland at the time, and as chance would have it - I was  heading to the place we often used to meet; Dunkeld. I had first got to know Lorraine in 2011, when I bought a copy of her book from the Watermill in Aberfeldy. Her story, told through artwork and poetry, resonated with me. A personal battle through depression, suicidal thoughts, but ending with recovery and hope. I contacted her via email, never imagining that I would get a reply, let alone that we would form a friendship that is still so influential in my life. Lorraine was endless in her support of my writing, my photography, and my own struggles with depression. If I wrote anything new, she would be one of the first people I sent it to. She would always like the photographs I posted on Facebook, and even encouraged my childlike attempts at painting. Expression through art, and a communion with nature, were as essential to her as breathing. Even more so, as it turned out. A life where those things seemed totally inaccessible would have been unbearable. I know in part, but only in part, the depths to which she must have sunk, and the extent to which her mind had become a prison from which there was to be no escape this time, no choice to be made at all. 

With the suicide of a friend, someone you love, comes a range of emotions. Overwhelming sadness, anger, confusion, grief, guilt, and perhaps (and I say this ever so carefully) a tiny amount of relief - that their suffering is at an end. But for all the pain that is left behind, I will not call her selfish, though. How could I possibly. She gave me so much, she gave many so much, and that has not suddenly ended now. Death makes life impossible to ignore. And when we look back on the life of someone who has died, it is the good things that we remember most. And we laugh about the things that irritated us, the things that drove us mad, because we realise now that non of that really matters. We are all a little bit like this, or a little bit like that, and the sooner we realise that it's ok, the better. We have a natural tendency to see the good in people - and we need to remember this, and act on it, perhaps now more than ever. 

I miss my friend. I realised last week why I haven't really spoken about her suicide to anyone before now. Because she would have been the one I would have spoken to about it. I haven't been ignoring or denying the fact it happened, but rather butting up against a void when it came to talking about it. Now I understand that, I have been able to write about it.