Blue Monday
I'm not meant to be here. Of course I'm meant to be here.
What if anyone at work finds that I pulled a sickie for this? I would be sacked. Best keep this off Instagram stories.
What would Dad say if he were conscious? He would be telling me to go out and live, rather than watching him slowly fade away.
Well, this one's for you Dad. You always did enjoy the Mancunian acid house movement. I've lost count of the number of times you told me that if you were ten years younger and weren’t raising kids, you would have been there dancing with Barny, Hooky and Bez in the Hacienda. All night, every night, you would say.
I'm standing in the middle of London's O2 arena. I've been here so many times before, and each time I'm blown away by the sheer scale of the place. The arena floor is packed with a mixture of young people like myself in the prime of their lives and middle aged blokes reliving their glory days. The stands are a similar story, and rise high above us on either side. I wouldn't want to be up there, restricted to a chair, the band mere specks on the stage. No, I'd rather be here, at the centre of the action.
Around me, the crowd is silent, patiently waiting. We all know what is coming, know which song hasn't yet been played. And we're ready for it. I feel the pill I took earlier kick in.
The drum beat starts, instantly recognisable. This is it. This is what we're here for. The crowd around me roars in approval. My voice gets lost amongst the sea of others.
Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum dadadadadadada, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dadadadadadada.
The synth starts, playing the all familiar melody over the drum beat, carefully crafting the layers that make this song a piece of art. Now the crowd starts to stir. Bodies start twisting, arms start pumping, feet start jumping. Slowly, surely the arena becomes a 70,000 strong rave.
The song builds and builds. More drum beats join the first, the bass line blares out the speakers. My body is no longer my own, moving of its own accord to the beat of the music. I savour every moment, barely believing how lucky I am to be dancing along with the artists as they craft their masterpiece.
If only Dad could see this. He would move with as much vigour as the more able bodied in the crowd. As the song builds towards the crescendo, I can't hold it in any more. Tears stream down my cheeks as I release all the emotions I have held in since that night in A&E. I'm not ready to lose him yet. I have to be.
60 miles away in the hospice bed, Dad takes his last breath.
