Avoiding Closure

Avoiding Closure

It's been a while. I've had the sculpture finished for a while now; I've passed copies to various people who asked for them and have a few more that were requested that I've not been able to pass on yet. The pictures below show the outcome, but it almost missed the purpose.





 
 

I refined the sculpture, removed a significant number of supports, and aligned the printer, enabling me to produce copies as I desire—with results that I am incredibly pleased with. This post details my journey in finding a way to create something to honor my friend, but it was never just about the model or the process. It was part of my personal journey. By working on this, I could keep Tom as a living part of my life a little longer; he wouldn’t be gone while I pursued this, which is why it has taken me so long to finish the blog. If anyone wants to know more about Tom's character or wishes to request a copy, they just need to ask. I am more than happy to share both. 

The rest of this blog will shift focus as I finally do what I should have done originally: find a way to say goodbye. 

Tom, I am so sorry I didn’t see the pain you were in and that I couldn’t help you through it. I cannot change what has happened, and honestly, not a week goes by without me thinking of you. I’ll be looking at a game and think, "Tom would love this." When I buy new games, you are still in my thoughts as someone who would enjoy playing them, which is a reason to pick them up. I’m not sure that will ever fade. I reflect on good times, and you often appear in those memories—there you were, a smile on your face, with a loud "Aliright, Stu!"

 
 
I hope you would be proud of me and the progress I've made in my life. These last couple of years have brought about significant changes for the better, and while you caught a glimpse of it, I wish I could share more with you. I’m excited to tell you that my name appears in the credits of another game, and there’s another one being printed as I write this, set to be delivered next year to over 20,000 people.
 
 
I’ve finally settled on a degree and am nearing the finish line; I’m in my final year studying politics and economics. It's been challenging, especially since writing has never come easily to me. But this subject is meaningful to me, something we both cherished, and I miss your insights and our lively discussions. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but I valued our debates, even if I stood firm in my belief about Brexit—it really turned into a mess, despite your valid points about the voter frustration behind it. 
 
 

On a happy note, I got married this past October. It was a simple celebration, quite different from the grand events I once imagined, but I wanted you there to witness me marry the woman I’ve loved for 20 years. You were with me at the beginning of that journey, and I know how proud you would have been.



 
I’ve also rediscovered my passion for cooking, a love we shared. I remember the pride in serving you my culinary creations, and how thrilled I was watching you in your first kitchen job. Those memories are so dear to me.

My daughter turned 8 yesterday. It’s incredible to think how far we’ve come from cold New Year’s Eve nights spent in damp London squats—though I cherish those memories deeply. Now, my daughter shares my love for games, and we were playing one together this weekend that I think you would have enjoyed called Summoner Wars. Some liken it to chess, but it has its own unique twist. I’m also waiting on a game called Cloudspire that fits into the same category. I wish you could experience both with us.
 

Next year, I plan to carve out some time to catch up on Blood Bowl. I may even paint some Wood Elves in your honor and try to enter a team into the World Cup if I can qualify. It’s a bit out of my comfort zone, but I feel like it’s a meaningful way to keep your memory alive with me just a little longer.



 
This was my way of remembering you, but I realise it’s more about holding on to the memories we created together. I’m not ready to say goodbye, and I still feel surprised by your absence. I regret that I didn’t reach out more often and that I didn’t recognise the loneliness you felt until it was too late.

As I close this chapter, know that you will never be forgotten and will always hold a special place in my heart. I promise to live fully and passionately for both of us, ensuring that your memory remains alive, and in doing so, a part of you will continue to live on with me. I have so much more I could have said, our last words were of love and friendship a week before you chose this path. 

In loving memory of Thomas Holden Ayris. 01/07/1987 - 12/06/2024, missed and forever in our thoughts.


 










 


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