My best mate died 10 years ago last week. He was 35. We grew up together, he supported Everton (he had his faults), and whilst I remember us doing the usual teenage thing of nicking a few spirits when his parents were away, buying cider and then graduating to the pub, I never saw him as an alcoholic. No one knew he even had a problem, and remember I had known him since we were 3 or 4 years old, we spent nearly all our spare time together - watching the footy, even going to away matches where occasionally I would go and watch everton with him and vice versa. I remember us watching football italia back in the day and we would record it whilst the premier league game was on to watch later. I would inevitably check ceefax or something and he always knew when it was a boring nil nil because I would fuck off home !
I always knew he was an anxious character, but drinking to that extent - no way. Anyway, about 10 days before he died I was in work I got a call from his sister (who is like a sister to me), to say he had been rushed to hospital, was in a coma and in ITU. I was obviously shocked, but didn`t have a clue what would have caused it. I got there quickly and was just in time for one of the lead consultants to talk to us and that was the first I knew that it was drinking that had done it. I visited him everyday, sat next to him chatting shite as usual. The day he died is etched on my memory. I was going to go in at the usual time but I got a call from his Dad early on the Saturday (Valentines day of all days - the bastard did it deliberately I am convinced !), to tell me to come in straight away to say my goodbyes. That was the hardest 15 minutes of my life, and I have had family members pass away in front of me, but nothing compared to this and thankfully still hasn`t.
I am a pretty down to earth fella. I am not maudlin. I see it as all as part of the rich tapestry of life and am very pragmatic about such things, and don`t dwell too much at all. I have to say for the first time since the time he died, it has really hit me over the past few weeks. I suppose it is the fact it is 10 years and I think about all the things that have happened since that I would have talked to him about, take the piss out of him for (Everton obviously) and generally the things I wish I had said (although I like to think he could still hear me when he was in a coma).
Anyway, the one thing that stuck in my mind was what the doctor told me when I said something like "but he wasn`t an alcoholic, he didn`t need it to wake up in the morning and function" - you know the sort of thing. He told me that anyone who consistently exceeds the recommended weekly units is technically an alcoholic and would be doing themselves harm.
I hardly drink anymore. Not just because of that, epilepsy and the medication I take (they don`t mix !) is part of that, but I can honestly say that since that day I haven`t really missed having a drink. I saw what it did to my best mate and I just wish I had known and could have perhaps done a little more to help. I know that people who suffer often don`t listen to the ones they love and perhaps it would have made no difference at all, but I still wonder.
I miss the soft twat.
