Ego is a horrible thing. It can fool you into believing that you’re the most amazingly intelligent human that has ever lived, all while it sneakily blinds you. It blinds you to lifes beauty, it blinds you to lifes mysteries and worst of all, it blinds you to the people that mean the most. Fortunately, I’ve had a month of rather sharp and well-targeted kicks to the ego and I can safely say that my head has been rather violently removed from my ass. But sadly, the final alarm bell to my rude awakening was the passing of a friend. A real life, bona fide, super hero.
Luke would not look out of place on the cover of a Marvel comic. In fact, many times he looked out of place in the real world. He was Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark and a host of other characters all neatly rolled together into one human being. His penchant for comical one-liners, his distant stares, his bravado and machismo almost hid his real nature, but not entirely. Luke was a champion for the oppressed, a sensitive soul that did not compromise or judge. He was a friend to everyone.
I’ve just come back from his funeral. As I heard his friends and family talk about him, I realise that Luke had it right. He put others before himself. He valued friendship above all. He was patient and kind. I am left with a deep sense of regret. I wish I had known him better. I wish I had taken more time. I wish I had met him half way.
But I am also left with a sense of hope. There are superheroes. They walk among us. Sting was one of them, not because he was gifted with powers, but because he chose to be.
RIP my friend.