Remembered Until Forgotten

This weekend was anything but simple.

It delivered an overload of human emotion that took the breath away in both the worst and best ways — sometimes within the same hour — and it began early on Saturday morning with a call from my coach saying we needed to go to the police station. Not something you ever want to hear at the start of a weekend. Not something that allows the morning to unfold the way you had imagined it would.

It turned out to have nothing to do with us directly — rather something concerning a fellow classmate, someone most of us had barely known a week. We spent hours answering questions we didn't really have answers to, about a person we didn't really know, while understanding very little of what had actually happened. The questions had to be asked. The answers had to be recorded. That is how these things work.

I left the police station feeling nothing in particular — not because nothing had happened, but because I had no real information to feel anything about. Only the quiet, familiar understanding that life had shifted again, somewhere nearby, and that for some people involved it would never quite be the same.

I spent the afternoon alone, working slowly through the puzzle of it all. This life that offers no guarantees, no stable ground, no promise that what is true this morning will still be true by evening.

Sunday brought the final day of filming on a friend's project. It has been genuinely fun to help with, and the work got done well enough. But I found myself simply looking forward to the finish line, which told me something I already knew but hadn't said plainly in a while.

The filming side of my life has drifted far from my centre. Not dramatically, not with any particular moment of departure — just the quiet way that things move when something truer takes their place. It used to be the whole world. Now it barely gets a second thought. That is not a loss. It is just the honest shape of where I am now, and I have made my peace with it.

We finished. I was glad. I went to bed with my attention already turning toward what comes next.

A weekend of ups and downs. Not the best, not the worst. Just another stretch of days that held more than expected and asked more than felt fair — and that will be remembered, in its way, until it is quietly forgotten.

Which is perhaps all any weekend can honestly ask to be.