I scrolled down through the headlines, and saw the name. David Rakoff. It’s a name that often proceeds a sentence similar to this “Ssshhhh, this one’s by David Rakoff – this’ll be good”. He’s one of my favourites on This American Life. I’ve been seeking him out for years, his voice was immediately recognizable, unique, both literally and physically. The honesty, the sarcastic wit, the ability to describe the deepest feeling in the most physical sense.
I never told him.
He’s the reason I’ve sat in my driveway while the neighbours have wandered by not understanding my motionless state, the fixed grin. It was him that had me not wanting to get out of the car until I’d heard each word. Sometimes twice. It was his stories that I retold over coffee or dinner. “I was listening to this guy on This American Life, he was talking about…
I never said thank you.
I knew the answer when I asked the question to no-one in particular, it was one of those questions that are said out loud in the vein hope that maybe an alternative answer can be provided “Why is there an end date?” David Rakoff 1964 – 2012.
How is it that I had devoured each word, giggled at each joke and appreciated each description without ever once writing a quick but sincere “thank you” or “I love your work” or “I think you have an amazing talent”.
Years ago, in my party years, when a temporary job held a lot more appeal than a full time commitment, I was assigned to work on the front desk of a large corporation. As the receptionist ran through the tasks for the day she rang the local deli to make her daily lunch order. In a split second she moved from a space of overt cheerfulness to a crumpled mess on the floor. “He’s dead!” she kept repeating, sobbing in a mixture of shock and confusion. I didn’t understand, wasn’t she just ordering a sandwich?
It was much more than that.
The sandwich guy stopped by each day for a chat, he asked about her impending wedding, he knew her parents were going through a divorce and it was keeping her awake at night. He genuinely seemed to care about her life, he always had a second or a third question after the initial banality, his how are you had meaning. She was going to invite him to her wedding. She wanted him to know that he was special, that he was appreciated. “I didn’t even get to invite him? I didn’t get to tell him how I felt. I didn’t even say thank you”.
I’m not sure if Ive ever told my sister in law how I love watching her with the little travelers, that I love how they love her. I haven’t thanked my friend Kimberley for arriving at my house with a big plate of schnitzels and a chocolate cake when I broke my ankle. I haven’t told Nicky Gemmel that I once bought two copies of Saturday’s Australian because the first one didn’t have the magazine, and it wouldn’t feel like a proper weekend if I hadn’t read her column. I haven’t told Angela Mollard that I look each day on The Punch, hoping she’s written a piece, or that I often check Edenland’s blog three times a day just incase she’s written something new.
I need to remember to say thank you. I need to remember that sometimes there’s a surprise end date.
And for my Canadian friends – I had to share this.
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Thank-you
Yep… know where you are coming from. I’ll always regret not telling my aunt how much I loved her. Now it’s too late. xo
So let me start by saying thank you! You are my Nicky Gemmel and I would buy another Sunday paper to read your latest post. I subscribe by email to both you and Eden but I still check occasionally in case you’ve written something and the email just hasn’t arrived yet.
A few years ago, I started writing thank you letters to family and the first one went to my husband’s stepfather, who raised him like his own. I wasn’t there when he received it but I am told there were tears. He is suffering from Alzheimer’s and I wanted to make sure he got the letter while he could understand the depth of my debt to him for raising the boy who became the best husband and father. Thanks for this reminder that I need to start sending off the other letters and get cracking writing the many that have yet to be written.
Thank you again,
Stacy
Kirsty, I check your blog daily, sometimes more! Thank you for making me laugh, making me cry, and helping me to procrastinate!
Thank you for entertaining us for the past year!
I actually looked up my grade three teacher two years ago to thank her for the huge infuence she had on my life. It felt good to do that.
Loved the Canadian audio.
Hope you had a good holiday. I just checked out Angela Mollard’s blog. What a fantastic writer, but have you read some of the comments on her posts??!! I was cringing reading some of them. I can’t believe she can keep writing in the face of such absurdity. Guess you have to be pretty thick skinned to blog!
Exactly! I always think the same thing, The Punch commentators are particularly scathing. I think I’d end up crying in a corner if I had to deal with the same thing.
You don’t know this, but I share your post with my readers all the time. My Mom Broads Abroad, love your words. Thank you!
Kirsty I thank you!!!! When my husband told me that we are moving to Qatar, I have come across your blog. I read each of your writing, you made me laugh from my heart, giggle and cry. I check your blog longing to see your new entry. Thank you Kirsty. You are wonderful and make so many of us happy. Gratitude is the way forward!
Vani