Gutted

"Gutted" is yet another example of a great British (or perhaps Great British) expression that has wormed its way into my vernacular like "cheers," "mate," "kip" and a handful of others. Anglicisms like these inject a little variety into the old lexicon, but gutted is there primarily because it is so comprehensive.

I have been gutted the past week and a bit due to the death of a friend, a good colleague from work.

His name was Krishna Tailor and we worked briefly together in Corporate Communications just prior to the pandemic. He was creative and friendly and genuinely gregarious and had the kind of enthusiasm that can be highly infectious, in addition to being a total and unabashed ham. Krishna was a great and generous collaborator and brought a lot of his experiences working in film and television to the projects we worked on together.

The fact that he was almost as big a nerd as I am and a Superman fan literally down to his socks didn't hurt our getting along either.

Of course, just before the big lockdown, we were both re-deployed out of Comms and our manager let go as part of a big re-org, but we agreed it was better to be working than not working and kept tabs on each other in our new roles.

I was thrilled in August when he let our other old teammates and me know he had taken a job at a tech startup. He would be doing almost every communication and marketing job in the organization at first, and then hiring others to do them and being their boss. He was so excited about the potential, and I thought it was a great opportunity for him. 

The plan was for him to take 1-2 weeks off after his last day and then start in his new gig, after which we would get together for the pint we had been postponing and rescheduling since damn near the spring. 

But instead, he was killed in a car accident near Foam Lake, Saskatchewan on September 1, heading back to Edmonton.

I describe feeling "gutted" instead of sad, or even heartbroken, even though both those things are true, because gutted not only perfectly describes the simultaneous feelings of pain and loss, but also the lingering vacuity - the pervasive sense of a palpable absence, the loss of bearings brought on by such a sudden, tragic and intrinsically unfair death.

Krishna was a decade younger than me, married, and had close personal ties to both his immediate and extended families. Trying to comprehend the grief and agony they were experiencing left me unmanned.

I was glad when they asked people to attend his memorial online this past Thursday, but I am not gonna lie - it was still tough. The raw anguish so freely offered by so many speakers spoke deeply to me and echoed many of my own feelings.

But there was also laughter amidst the tears, and fond recollections, and gratitude for good times past, and clear signs that the remaining connections would not be frayed by this loss, but made even stronger in defiance of grief.

Krishna's father was one of the last to speak, and his heartbreak came through in every syllable. But then he began speaking directly to his son, reminding him that the soul is immortal, and his journey was not yet over. He gave Krishna clear and patient instructions in terms of what to expect, and the importance of laying down his earthly ties, not to be tied here with his mortal husk. He told his son to relax and follow the guidance of Lord Shiva, who would lead him on eventually to eternity, where they would all meet again one day.

So many of the Christian funeral rites I have experienced treat the beloved deceased as already being beyond our reach; so it was striking to me to hear Krishna's grieving father steady his voice and give these final insights to his offspring. It was profoundly touching, and despite my not being of the Hindu faith, quite comforting as well. 

I have already spoken to my work colleagues about getting together again to raise a glass to our departed friend, and hope we can do it before too long. Krishna's memorial went a long way to making me feel less gutted, but the only reliable long-term treatments are time and fellowship spent with others who knew the man and share the loss.

Godspeed, Krishna.