Essai #11 - A Quiet Loss
to my fellow Gary
--
A few days ago, I caught myself thinking about someone who, indirectly, helped me feel confident about thoughts I used to have, about society, politics, and work.
--
It all started back in 2012. At the time, I was working in a vineyard for barely a penny, enduring the sun and all kinds of weather, reeking of chemical sprays meant to protect the vines from disease. Then one day, I got a call. I answered. I changed jobs. My first job as a caregiver, in a care home for the elderly.
I traded the open air, birds singing, the scent of earth and vines for the confines of four white walls…
The person I was replacing was named Axel Chaboud. He had taken sick leave after getting his hand stuck in a hospital bed. Later, I learned he had smashed his laptop screen out of frustration, it simply wouldn’t turn on anymore...
Three weeks later, I was told I had to move to another floor. Axel was doing better and came back to reclaim his old floor and the residents he used to care for. As soon as I met him, I had the feeling we’d get along.
From that day until the last, we shared so much, fun times at the beach, long evenings in his apartment drinking café and Calvados, smoking "fleur du pays", talking about everything and nothing, and playing music late into the night. Even though I lived just three minutes away, I often ended up crashing on his couch—too tired to walk home, but happy to stay.
But then, one day, he got sick.
During that time, he tried to make peace with himself, with the demons from his past, with the things he’d done growing up in Paris. He tried to drink less, eat more vegetables, take better care of himself… but it wasn’t enough. The chemo wasn’t strong enough. He tried three times. It didn’t work.
One day, I got a call from him. He told me he had stopped all treatment and was just waiting now, two more months, he said, until the famous white tunnel.
I was terrified. He congratulated me for following my path with music and art, and for getting married soon. He didn’t want us to meet again. He said he had changed too much, drastically.
But I saw him two more times, at the hospital, during the COVID pandemic. It was around mid-July 2021. We ate Indian food together. He smoked a joint, we talked, we laughed. Then we messed around in the corridors, racing his wheelchair faster and faster like two fools in a hospital comedy sketch. I helped him into bed. One last look. Then I left. Twice.
On August 5th, 2021, just after our wedding, I got a call from his son. Axel was gone. He was 49.
I didn’t want to see his body. I chose to keep the good memories, the last Indian meals, the laughter, the music, the drinks, and all the past we shared. Today, I still see in myself the light and memories he left behind.
mot4i