The passing of time can be a cruel and unforgiving force, especially when it comes to the memories of those we have lost along the way. As I sit here, staring at my notebook, pen in hand, trying to put into words the mechanics of remembering a dead friend after a decade has passed, I am overcome with emotions that are both raw and bittersweet.
It has been ten years since my best friend Henrik Møll left this world. Ten long years filled with moments where I have felt his absence quite viscerally. And yet, as the years go by, I find myself clinging to hold onto the details of our friendship – inside jokes, late night conversations about life, the adventures we embarked on together, early TOPY formatting, an intense potpourri of nights at his legendary Copenhagen clubs and parties (including The Orb in the Copenhagen harbor in ’93), initiating the massive ”An Art Apart” documentary film project (that will keep me busy for a long time still), and then some. It all seems so distant now, like fragments from another lifetime. Some of us are allowed to enter new phases in life – almost unfair, it seems.
But then there are spontaneous moments when his memory floods back to me with intensity. A song on a playlist that was once an anthem-of-sorts, or a particular film quote, or a snippet of a general attitude of faux-misanthropic glee in regarding the world’s unwilling absurdist tendencies – these triggers transport me back in time and suddenly he is alive again in my mind.
They say that grief never truly goes away; it just changes shape over time. And for me, remembering my best friend after all these years feels like navigating through shifting sands – sometimes gentle and calm but other times tumultuous, overwhelming and scorching hot.
In Greek philosophy/mythology, there is a concept known as “anamnesis” which refers to the recollection or remembrance of things (past) that we basically always carry inside us. This idea resonates deeply with me when it comes to remembering my friend. It is as if his memory is imprinted in my soul, waiting to be occasionally summoned forth with the right trigger.
Thankfully he left a lot of triggering material behind, as a real data hoarder. Hours upon hours of DJ-sets from various clubs and restaurants in Copenhagen, in which he spun great jazz and movie soundtracks. He did become if not a prophet then at least a legend in his own home town.
For me, one of the most powerful ways of keeping my friend’s memory alive has been through carrying on in the ”An Art Apart” project. It’s been a few years since I did anything with it, but now it’s high time again. I basically have about ten documentaries shot and ready to be edited. I will invoke his editing skills (as he was a film editor by profession) and just carry on, and, as promised at his funeral ten years ago, letting the world know that ”a Trapart Film is always made in loving memory of Henrik Møll.”
In many cultures around the world, there are rituals or ceremonies dedicated to honoring and remembering those who have passed on. These acts serve as a way for us to pay tribute and keep their memory alive in our hearts.
Similarly, I have created my own personal rituals for remembering my friend. I usually light a candle in his honor and spend some time reflecting on our friendship; I always go to his grave when in Copenhagen. It may seem small but these little acts hold immense significance for me. Re-flection and re-memberance.
A sense of detachment and distance from my emotions is sometimes needed. It almost feels like a coping mechanism, a way to protect myself from a weird void. I guess the journey of remembrance begins with simply acknowledging the loss. It takes time for our minds to accept something that our hearts refuse to believe – that death is an irrevocable event. In accepting death as an inevitable part of our human experience, it becomes somewhat easier to come to terms with the passing of loved ones.
No matter how much time passes or how faded some memories may become, one thing remains constant – the bond between friends never truly dies. Remembering a dead friend after a decade has passed is a delicate dance between holding on and letting go. It requires effort and intention to keep their memory alive but also the understanding that memories will inevitably change over time. And in this process, we come to realize that although they may be physically gone, their spirit lives on through us – in every story shared, every ritual performed, every emotion felt, every memory honored, every piece of writing like this one…
So here’s to my dear friend Henrik Møll – may your memory continue to live on in our hearts and minds!
For Henrik Møll (600214-140801)
P.S. To read my original death rune, please visit:
