On Grief & Loss

Chapter XIX

"Hey Chev, I got an email from Anna. What do you think she's trying to say?"

We were in de Bijenkorf, a large, multilevel department store we visited a few days a week to use the computers on the top floor. No, not an internet café. We avoided those like the plague because they were expensive, and we'd walk out very high because they were attached to Coffee Shops. This was a far better set-up.

On the top floor, in the centre of the electronics department, four Apple Macbooks were on display for potential customers to try out.

Initially, Chevy and I would pop in for ten minutes or so to check our emails and Facebook. However, as time passed, we began to push our luck since nobody seemed to mind. Using those display laptops, we even booked ferry trips back to the UK a few months earlier. It was brilliant!

Anna had tried contacting me several times, but I avoided replying. Still in love with her and childishly upset over my broken heart, I decided ignoring her texts and emails was a suitable remedy for my sadness. Of course, it was a load of nonsense, and Anna had had enough.

I read the email to Chevy and highlighted the ending, "Mike, I think you're really acting like a man right now."

Hopeful that she was somehow impressed with me, Chevy burst my bubble of delusion, "I think she's saying you're being a typical man, Mate. Because you're ignoring her. Just drop her a line back. She seems pissed off."

He was right, and so was she. So, I sent her an email apologizing.

"Ready to head off, Man?" It was nearly Happy Hour, and I was getting thirsty. But Chev was immersed in what he was doing and wanted a few more minutes, so I jumped onto Facebook to pass the time.

Suddenly, I froze. Standing in the display area of that massive department store, I experienced one of the saddest, most shocking moments of my life.

"Holy Fuck."

Hearing my anguish, Chev looked up to see me as white as a ghost, mouth hung open in disbelief, eyes drowning in tears.

"What's up Matey? You alright?"

With a deep breath, I swallowed the lump in my throat down into the pit of my nauseous stomach so I could reply. "I think one of my really good friends is ... dead."

Hayden, aka The Rogue, was part of a group of friends I'd made back in Banff the same year I'd met Trunsey. After the ski season, we moved to Kelowna for the summer, where Hayden, another good friend, Seb, and I worked together for a while. Eventually, everyone dispersed, heading away on their travels before returning home to Australia or New Zealand. Hayden was also from Australia but had a Canadian girlfriend called Sarah, so he stuck around, and during that time, we got pretty close.

Fast-forward to my Australia days, when Hayden and I rented a flat together in Melbourne for a few months. I'll cover this more in future chapters, but I just want to highlight that we had quite a bit of history and that our friendship was tight.

After I left Melbourne, our contact was slim. Back then, it wasn't as easy as it is today to keep in touch with anyone we want anywhere in the world on a regular basis.

One day, a few months earlier, I was at Anna's using her laptop and Haydo, and I ended up chatting over MSN Messenger. Excited to be in contact after so long, we made a deal to have a phone call in the coming weeks. But months flew by, and our chat was long overdue. I figured I'd use the time waiting for Chev to jump onto Hayden's Facebook page to see if he'd shared any news.

His profile was full of messages like, "RIP Haydo", "Gone too soon", and "Miss ya legend."

Remember that tunnel I slid back into when Anna broke up with me? I found my way back in there again. Chevy was talking to me, but it was inaudible. My world had turned upside down in an instant.

As many travellers will attest, when you live on the road, away from where you grew up, you form strong bonds with people you meet along the way. These aren't people who went to your school, played on your sports team or whose parents were friends with yours. This is deeper. Tribal.

You're out in the world, free from the labels of your hometown, vulnerable and discovering who you really are. The friends you make during this time are people you connect with on a whole new level. You have similar interests, share personal stories and always have each other's backs. It's the forming of a new family. An extended family beyond blood and borders. An unconditional love and understanding. An unbreakable bond.

Hayden was part of my global family, and he was gone.

I checked my direct messages. One of the boys from the Banff and Kelowna days, Toski, had reached out to me, saying, "Bro, get ahold of Wade as soon as possible. It's important, Man. Wadeo will explain everything." My heart sank, joining the lump swimming in my queasy stomach. The tunnel grew deeper and darker. The only light was that computer screen.

I managed to get a hold of one of Haydo's childhood friends via direct message, "Ah Mikey, what a shit way for you to find out, Mate. Yeah, Haydo had an accident a few days ago. They tried everything, but he didn't make it Man. He's gone. Everyone's pretty busted up down here, Mate. We're all in shock."

The information was thin, to say the least, but the message was loud and clear: my dear friend Hayden was dead. We didn't get a chance to have that phone call. I didn't get to say goodbye. My heart raced, pumping a volatile mixture of sadness and guilt through my veins.

I got in touch with Nir and told him what happened. He was very compassionate: "Listen, Man, just take the rest of the day off, okay? Chevy too. You guys come on the pub crawl tonight, and we'll all hang out. We'll have a toast to your friend. Let me know if you need anything."

Later that night, we gathered around a bar to toast Hayden. Nir, Steven, Jimmy and Chevy didn't know him, but they stepped up as if they did, and their support meant the world. "To Hayden." We raised a glass, and a round of hugs followed.

I stepped away for a moment, and Ruari came up to me. "What happened, Bro? Did your mate die? I'm really sorry, Man. It's hard when we lose friends."

We may have been pub crawl rats, but we were supportive and looked out for one another. That was one of the most difficult moments of my life, and those boys were all there for me. They made me feel like I wasn't alone, and to this day, I love them for it. I'll always be grateful for their kindness.

A few days later, Chevy was out with Wendy, and I was alone in the Attic. It seemed a good time to call Hayden's folks. Having lived with Haydo for a while, I'd gotten to know his family reasonably well. Melbourne's a long way from Amsterdam, and I knew I wouldn't be there for the funeral, so I figured the least I could do was give them a ring. I pulled out my phone and typed in the code on the back of a phone card, followed by their number.

"Mike? Oh Mike!" Ros was in hysterics, understandably. "He was our mate too, Mike. He was our mate too."

She passed the phone to Jeff. "Mike, he was doing good, Mate. He was doing really good. We miss him, Mate. We miss him so much."

He passed the phone to Hayden's sister, Steph, "Mike, where are you?" It broke my heart to hear them all so upset. I wished I could be there to help in some way.

"I'm in Amsterdam right now. Sorry, but I won't be ..." there was a click, followed by a robotic voice, "Your balance is zero. To top up, go to a Lebara dealer near you. Thank you. Goodbye."

My phone fell to the floor. How could I have not checked my balance before calling them? By the time I went and bought another card, they'd be in bed. I felt awful. What would they think? That I hung up on them? That I didn't care?

I vowed to ring them back, but it never happened. I didn't know it then, but that's how things work with a neurodivergent brain like mine. Sometime usually means never.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

It would take nearly a year before I got the whole story of what happened to Hayden. Until then, all I could do was guess. My mind worked overtime, spiralling through endless scenarios that took my friend away.

From then on, my nightly entertaining wound down to nearly nothing. Most nights, I'd walk home alone through the dark streets, mourning my friend. I'd talk to Hayden or sing songs we used to listen to together until my crying turned the words into a slurred soup of drunken pain.

This continued for longer than I care to admit. Not once did I ask for help or reach out to someone for an ear. Chevy was right there. He was a great friend and definitely would have been supportive. But nope, I kept it to myself, instead choosing to put on a brave face for others, saving my confessions of agony and grief for the empty cobbled streets of Amsterdam.

As for the tunnel, I stayed in there this time, inching deeper and deeper into the darkness. My drinking increased, and that long, dark, lonely concrete tunnel turned to glass. It became a bottle, the liquid inside keeping me afloat just enough to not hit the bottom.

Self-loathing sunk in. I wondered why a wanderer like me was still alive and well despite my chaotic, reckless life, while Hayden, who had pointed his life in a good direction, would never enjoy the flat he had just bought or watch his nieces and nephews grow up. If failing to make time for that phone call wasn't bad enough, I found guilt in simply being alive.

If you're reading this and a loved one is close by, go give them a hug and tell them how important they are. If there's someone you haven't spoken to in a while and miss, give them a call and let them know what they mean to you. You never know; it may be the last time.

And please, if you're struggling, ask for help. Don't hide your pain or self-medicate. I learned the hard way that Ol' Al isn't a friend at all. It's a temporary escape. A debt, where the avoidance of today leads to a higher price tomorrow. Don't make the same mistake. Reach out to someone you trust and let them know what's going on.

Asking for help is not a sign of weakness, it's a sign of courage. We all go through hard times, and just as we would all feel honoured to help a loved one in need, so too would those who love us want to be there for us. Don't be afraid. You don't have to go through it alone.

I still talk to Haydo from time to time, walking down a beach or in the forest. His loss still hurts. I miss my friend. We all do. But someone dear to me once said something I'll never forget: "It's okay to feel sad when you miss someone. It means you loved them, and that's beautiful."