It's been a while since it happened, but maybe it might do me some good to write this out.
On Halloween night 2013, I was in the lounge with the mister and one of my housemates, having a few drinks. The TV was on in the background, but nobody was really paying any attention to it. We were having some laughs, whiling the time away, when I saw a familiar face flick over the TV screen out the corner of my eye; curious, I reached for the remote and hit rewind, expecting it to just be some guy who happened to look like someone I knew. It turned out to be the news. I hit play when the segment had backed up to the start, only really half-watching.
When I heard his name and saw his face again, my insides turned to ice. It was Jack. He was dead.
Jack was one of my best friends growing up. My upbringing wasn't the easiest or the most comfortable, but Jack was always there to cheer me up; whether it was dicking about at the cinema or having a laugh at our local coffee bar. He had a love for extreme sports, a real adrenaline junkie...when he eventually became a professional mountain climber, I never once feared for his safety. I knew it was what he lived for, I knew he wasn't stupid (cocky, maybe, but I guess you'd have to be a little cocky to be a climber), but despite the risks, I never saw this coming.
He was out doing a standard climb with his old tutor, tied together with a rope. Jack slipped. No safety. 300 foot drop, taking his friend with him. Both were unconscious before they hit the waves. Both drowned. The RNLI found their bodies days later after they were reported missing (my gratitude to those men for their time and efforts is immense). He was 23 years old. Twenty fucking three. I never got to say goodbye. He was due to visit me in a few months...I'm still coming to terms with the fact that he's never going to come. That news segment still plays over and over again in my head.
I miss that cocky bastard. I miss him so fucking much.
