When I first met Patrick, on the platform at Berlin's Bahnhof Zoo, I was struck by his eager smile and his restless energy; he seemed almost to bounce up and down as he talked. This is one of countless memories that will resonate with me in years to come.
I remember many good times with Pat, yet it was not always clear that this would be so, for our friendship was not of our choosing. Patrick was Ryan's friend and I was Ryan's boyfriend and, both solitary by nature, we approached each other with a certain wariness. Over time, however, we became friends in our own right because, quite simply, when you met Patrick you wanted to be his friend. So many of us were conquered by his natural charm and grace, and it is all the more difficult to accept that we were unable to understand him more fully, to embrace all of the Essential Patrick in these last terrible months.
After Patrick returned to Berlin, we would meet for lunch, dinner or a concert, to play scrabble or watch TV. And he was always so easy to be with, explaining the context of a particular symphony, sharing a joke and - unlike Ryan - actually staying awake to the end of a film. The best companions are those with whom conversation is not always necessary, where silences are not uncomfortable. Patrick was such a companion.
Patrick could be swept away by Mahler's Sixth Symphony, or laugh out loud at Chicken Run. At such moments he seemed entirely happy, growing into the world, appreciating its art and laughing at its absurdity. Yet the Essential Patrick ran far deeper than this, deeper than we would ever realise. For Patrick was, in essence, a very serious person and for serious people the world's absurdity can, at times, be hard to take. It is absurd that political and religious leaders should gain popularity by maligning one of the vital facts of your being. It is hard to laugh at such absurdity and feel good about yourself when you work hard and strive for honesty in your own life. Patrick was a thoroughly decent person and there was not one thing in his life to be ashamed of.
In those terrible hours on the 6th of February, as darkness descended on Berlin, I reflected on our last few meetings. It is easy to believe that everyone has the right to be left alone to lead their own life but we must surely hold our friends more dear than this. We saw but one aspect of the Essential Patrick, we should have dug deeper, intruded upon his privacy, for the pain he was feeling must not be borne alone.
I expected the good times I had with Patrick to be joined by many more. I looked forward to evenings spent playing Scrabble, not just old score sheets that bring a catch to your throat. Instead of seeing Patrick sat at the kitchen table we now open our magazines to find his half-finished crosswords. The memories are painful but they are vibrant, and in the realisation of what we have lost lies the joy of all we gained by knowing him. Patrick cut a swathe through our lives and his life, his death will echo with us down the years. For me, Berlin will always be Patrick.
