Goodbye Richard Wright

It may seem silly to you to be upset about the death of someone I didn’t even know, but I am. Yes, it wasn’t someone I knew in person, but in a way, Richard Wright of Pink Floyd was a person I knew. I knew that he understood life in the same way that I did, and I knew him, because he used to talk to me, through the notes of the keyboard, he would talk to me, and when I heard him playing his music, I felt like I was meeting an old friend.

Did you know I fall asleep to Pink Floyd every night? And it’s always the same sequence of albums; Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here and Meddle. When Richard died, on Monday, of Cancer, I felt a little part of me was gone as well. The one great drive for me, the one big hope, was that some day the band would re-unite, and I’d be there to see them. David said it would not be looking forward, Roger said the only way they’d do an album together again was if they were all drunk, but I didn’t care; as long as they were all around, there was still hope. Now there isn’t.

It all the more difficult for me to believe because he’s right there on the DVDs, on Gilmour’s last tour, he playing on stage, hanging out with the rest of the band, making jokes, everything. It’s difficult to believe the “gentleman” behind the keyboards, with his unassuming air, is no more. Life just won’t be the same without him. I went through the usual “why him” and “why now” kind of feelings. He wasn’t that old, just 65. But the family says that his battle with cancer was short, and for that I am grateful to the big man upstairs who deals the cards. A prolonged bout with cancer would not have been desirable, for anyone.

In the end, of course, we must accept death as a natural part of life, no matter how difficult or bitter it may seem. So I must say goodbye to Richard. I have not had the privilege of watching him perform his magic in this world, but maybe I will have the chance of meeting him when I too depart for the great gig in the sky. Maybe he’ll play “Mediterranean C”.