TITLE: Catharsis
AUTHOR: Prophecy Gurl
EMAIL: darlinggrrrl@hotmail.com
FEEDBACK: Please!
CONTENT: W/G
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Joss's.
SUMMARY: A tale of Willow Rosenberg & Rupert Giles
Dedication: In Loving Memory of Hoby Spruyt.

Last time I saw him I was complaining about not seeing enough of him. Now I'll never see him again.

"Never" is an incomprehensibly long time. Its not something I can comprehend yet, nor can I reconcile it in my heart. It FEELS so wrong. I don't think I'll ever understand why -when there are so many monsters out there- he had to die.

He was my friend. My confidant. Someone I could always talk to. Someone I could be safe enough with to let myself cry with. When I needed to talk to him, he'd always listen to me - never offering easy answers. That wasn't his way. He would ask me the questions that I didn't really want to hear. The questions that would always lead me to find some form of answer within myself.

One thing I'll never forget was that he gave the best hugs in the whole world. You know how some people do a pathetic clasp-and-brief-squeeze and try to pass it off as a hug? Not him - he'd wrap his arms around you and hold you so tight, rubbing your back or squeezing your arms. And he'd be completely focused on the hug - as if nothing else in the world mattered in that moment, except hugging you. I remember once or twice thinking I'd have bruises on my arms from being held so tight - and not caring because I felt so safe, so protected.

I have so many memories of the little things that meant so much. Crazy stuff - phone calls for help out of the blue when his computer would do something he wouldn't understand. The look on his face that first Christmas when I presented him with a book voucher - I'd felt bad that I didn't know what book to buy him, but he was so grateful. The light, easy banter we had. The respect. The times he'd tell me I was a lady... How touched he was when I invited him to my graduation - he promised me first dance at the prom. The frequent postcards the summer he went away and knew I was feeling alone. The time he came just to visit me and we had tea and oatmeal cookies and he told me a story of when he was a boy. So many little things.

At least I know that I left him in no doubt as to how special he was to me. He was sitting in that spot, just where I'd notice him in the corner of my eye when I looked up from the paper I was writing on my computer. When I finally noticed him, I got quite a start and he laughed. I wrinkled my nose at him and came over to sit on the floor with him. I teased him about how busy we'd both been - and how shocking it was to see him twice in one month! He responded in his usual dry manner. We talked, and I shared the news of my possible study trip to Israel with him. We shared our love of history - he was so happy... so pleased and so proud of me. It's funny, seeking approval at my age. I have my self-assurance - my ambivilence towards public opinion. But his approval always felt nice.

He never said goodbye to me before he left. How can I say goodbye at tomorrow at his funeral?

END