No Reservations
It’s one of the things about social media that, depending on where it happens, when news breaks, what time-zone you’re in, you can either be the one to break stories to friends and loved-ones, or you can be woken up to a chiming cell-phone alert with horrible news that’ll fuck you up for the rest of the day.
I remember getting woken up to the news that Anthony Bourdain was dead.
I get a distinct feeling of unfairness whenever I’m faced with a suicide, and oddly enough I feel I’m further cheated by not knowing the specifics of the incident. Not knowing how Bourdain killed himself was almost as unsettling as the news of the act itself.
I felt cheated … still do a bit.
I’m pissed off I’m now denied any possibility of a conversation with the man. I won’t get to read any more of his writing for the first time. I’m upset I’ll no longer have him show me beautiful locations too far off for me to likely reach in my lifetime, and describe foods so exciting and specialised, and introduce me to communities I’ll probably never hear from again.
It’s a selfish response, I know. And if I’m being honest (which I am trying – ever trying) I say it’s a selfish response, to a selfish act.
And, shit, I know rereading that just now, my comments sound fucking morbid, I can’t deny that. But possibly because the act itself is so taboo, because it’s not a topic to even be uttered, hushed about, that attitude of silence, that omertà makes me only want to probe deeper.
Like what? Never talk about it? It’s so unpleasant we ignore it, hide away from it, never try to understand?
It was suicide – as an answer, doesn’t quite cut it.
It starts with wanting to know how, and where, and then (naturally) why?
It’s all about closure, I’m sure, and this is something that no one ever gets when a person takes their own life – except maybe the person themselves?
… likely not even them.
It doesn’t stop the pain they feel from existing but instead disperses it to those around them. I know I still feel pain when I remember the suicides of two of my close friends. I still don’t know how they did it, nor where exactly, what the circumstances were.
Maybe if I knew I could better understand?
Maybe, if I knew, then next time I’d be able to help?
… maybe I just wanna know so I can avoid it myself?
I found out a few days after the fact that Bourdain had hung himself – which sounds to me so fucking brutal – like, just take a handful of pills, wash it down with some booze and have a nap, for Christ’s sake; or a gun if you’re not averse to violence (in the body if you’re a woman, in the head of you’re a man: statistically speaking).
But maybe he’s telling us something from beyond? Maybe with this one clue he’s answering those questions we have? The action itself a statement.
Hanging is slow, like from a doorknob or in a closet, that’ll take a while – the executioners drop (back when hanging was the way it was done) was to break the neck and kill the person instantly, because the free hanging strangulation can take upwards of fifteen minutes. And maybe Bourdain’s decision to go out this way is an indication that the man was going on one last adventure to parts unknown.
Let me stress I’m in no way glorifying this or sticking up for this bullshit move – all respect to the dead, but the man had an 11yr old daughter for Christ’s sake, I love ya Tony but fuck you too for doing it … most of us couldn’t see half the shit he did, even if we had two forevers, nor could we go to a quarter of the places or stomach but a mouthful of the meals.
After necking beers in Vietnam on plastic chairs with the leader of the free world, what else is there to do?
Well, it’s June 12th today, a few days (and years) after the anniversary of his death and … well I’m not surprised by the number of folk (celebrity or otherwise) who continue to pay tribute to the man online. Not surprised, but pleased I suppose his work and impact is still reverberating through those of us who appreciated what he did.
And that’s it really, isn’t it?
I never even met the man, but I remember watching him every other night on the food channel growing up. Made him part of the family conversation. So of course, I, never having anything to do with him, yet who misses him still, shouldn’t think it too interesting when those he truly touched and inspired will mourn as well.
He must have known how much he was cherished by his community.
And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
Maybe the slow death, the overly conscious and alert method of suicide was his way of facing the great unknown one last time; facing it sound of mind (no inhibiting drugs or alcohol in his system said the toxicology report), being present and ready to travel to that land from which no man is born.
Pen and paper ready. Eyes open. Bottle of beer …
We all got a reservation for the dinner that’s held there. There’s a table and chair set-aside, and a placeholder for each and every one of us. And weather we want to or not, we’re gonna be on time for supper.
Maybe instead of simply arriving, like the rest of us saps, Bourdain wanted to peak in around the back, get there early and watch the mise en place.
See what was cooking.
P.S.
These are just my ramblings, and I don’t wish to undermine the seriousness of the topic.
If you’re feeling any kind of way, or if you’re having ideas that start to scare you, please talk to someone, because the alternative is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
I don’t know much, but I am certain there’s nothing can’t be remedied by talking it out.
Call Lifeline 24/7: 13 11 14