I'm the youngest of 7, no, make that 6...

That awkward moment when someone says "so, have you any brothers or sisters?" It used to be simple "yes, 5 big brothers and a big bitch/sister" Oh WOW! They'd gasp. 7 children! Your poor Mam! Yes. Hilarious. My Mam has a fanny like a bucket, we get it.

But now, it's the old "Erm... well, I had 5 big brothers, now it's 4... although of course he'll always BE my brother, he's just dead, so, you know, I suppose I'm the youngest of 6 really... but no, that'd be like forgetting him wouldn't it!? No - definitely youngest of 7. 5 big brothers. One I keep in less contact with than the others. Because I'm not a medium." But by the time I've said all that the person asking the question has probably fucked off anyway.

OR, they're the nosy kind - and enquire "Oh dear, what happened?" When it first happened I found it easy to just say "He blew his brains out with a rifle." And it'd be like a social experiment to see how they'd react. But as the weeks have passed, I find myself choking on the explanation. Instead I simply shake my head, and a friend will lead me away whilst shooting a dirty look at afore mentioned nosy cow. And they say time is a healer?

It came to a head this morning. I'm supposed to be in lectures all day, but I bumped into someone I hadn't seen for nearly a year on my way there, an old family friend. She had been childhood friends with Ciaran (afore mentioned dead brother) but we hadn't kept in touch. "So, how's the family? I hear Ciaran's living in London now?" It must've looked like I was an Oscar nominated actress - I did the stare with the haunted eyes, then they welled up, then I stammered a bit at her, whilst her face dropped and she placed a concerned hand on my arm. "Oh.. Ciaran... well.. he's kind of, dead, you know?" Yes I said 'kind of' and 'you know'. As oppsed to "a lot" and "you know now." Then she welled up too and her lip trembled and she stammered and we were beginning to look like a couple of first years in drama school. "How did it happen?" she asked. I managed to tell her that he shot himself. And she paused, and looked at me for a moment, and then began to chuckle. "Typical Ciaran, ay? Die as you live and all that. He was always an interesting bastard, for sure." Well I hadn't had that reaction before.

But she's right. He was classic, a person who actually 'seized the day' unlike those cunts who get it tattooed on themselves but have never actually done anything remotely interesting in their lives. He travelled for two years across Europe and Asia, he worked on cattle ranches in America and on polo farms in Australia, volunteered in Sudan assisting famine and aids victims, got his pilots license, spent a Summer driving a horse and cart around Ireland, rode in point to points, hunted and shooted, went in one of those shark cages off the coast of Australia, swam with dolphins, went whale spotting, trekked and skiied his way across Northern Canada, completed the New York marathon... and those are just the things off the top of my head. He was also funny and kind and could make anyone feel welcome and comfortable.

Why'd he do it? Was another common question. Said thoughtfully, rhetorically (in most cases, some rude cunts simply asked outright). I went into it on twitter, how it bugged me and I had just one possible reason as to why he didn't want to live anymore - loneliness. His fiance had died 10 years previously, killed by a drunken-cunt-driver in Dublin. I suppose doing all of the above always had a sting in the tail for Ciaran, he'd then have to go home and sit there and imagine how much Kate would've enjoyed it, or how much better it could've been had she been there. Perhaps he got as much done because he was trying to run away from the sadness (the cynical explanation) or was it because he was determined to live life to the full since she couldn't (the optimists version). Who knows.

But, now everyone left behind has inherited the sting in the tail. Everytime I begin to enjoy myself I'll remember him and then I'll be sad. Or if I hear a great song I'll go to text him about him, then I'll be sad. Or I'll bump into an old friend of his on the street and I'll be sad for the rest of the day, skip all my lectures, and cry whilst eating a chocolate orange (today).

That was all really. I'm just bored because I'm skipping all my lectures, crying, eating a choc... yeah you know, so I decided to write this shitty boring blog and make you sad too x