In March 1990, my sister Debbie died after a long battle with a disease called Lupus 3 days before she should have turned 17. I was 18 at the time and a senior in high school. My parents were at the hospital with her while I was at home with my two younger sisters, one of which is Debbie's identical twin, Laura. The phone rang late in the evening and by the sound of the ring, I knew. I answered and heard the truth. I took a deep breath, turned and faced my sisters and my life has never been the same.
I took comfort in 3 things: U2, REM & INXS. They provided my escape. They could say what I felt. They understood. They all also taught me to be humble and thankful for no matter what pain or loss I felt - someone, somewhere had it a hell of a lot worse than I did.
Very early on a cold November morning, my phone rang with that same sound of death that comes too early. I woke on the first ring and ran to the phone. It was Laura and she was crying. She said, “I had to be the one who told you, Michael Hutchence has died. I'm so sorry.” I told her I had to go and thanked her for not letting me hear it on the radio. I was again careful not to reveal how deeply hurt I was. I crawled back into bed and my now husband asked me what was wrong. I sobbed that a good friend of mine had died. Someone who knew the real me without ever having met me. Someone who was there whenever I needed him. It has taken me a long time to be able to write something like this. Thank you for this site.
And thank you, Michael. I am a better person because you and my sister were part of my life for such a short while. Every one of us is a little bit of every one else we touch. And every person we touch becomes a little bit of us. I wish I could have known you. I wish you could have known my sister.
I took comfort in 3 things: U2, REM & INXS. They provided my escape. They could say what I felt. They understood. They all also taught me to be humble and thankful for no matter what pain or loss I felt - someone, somewhere had it a hell of a lot worse than I did.
Very early on a cold November morning, my phone rang with that same sound of death that comes too early. I woke on the first ring and ran to the phone. It was Laura and she was crying. She said, “I had to be the one who told you, Michael Hutchence has died. I'm so sorry.” I told her I had to go and thanked her for not letting me hear it on the radio. I was again careful not to reveal how deeply hurt I was. I crawled back into bed and my now husband asked me what was wrong. I sobbed that a good friend of mine had died. Someone who knew the real me without ever having met me. Someone who was there whenever I needed him. It has taken me a long time to be able to write something like this. Thank you for this site.
And thank you, Michael. I am a better person because you and my sister were part of my life for such a short while. Every one of us is a little bit of every one else we touch. And every person we touch becomes a little bit of us. I wish I could have known you. I wish you could have known my sister.