A man of our time, for all time: and for all humanity.

I deliberately didn't write here last week - although it seemed once more as though the world must surely have to stop for more than just Remembrance day... I still can't believe you've been gone 9 years. But I was determined that if I was going to write, it had to be something positive. And today, I've found the very thing.

More than once, since March, I've sat back and imagined your triumphant shout of laughter, followed by a gleeful chuckle as I've read about the latest adventures and edicts of Pope Francis. Here is a man who is a living embodiment of the plea to "be the change you want to see in the world". This is the man who said that if a gay person "seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge", and who personally telephoned a pregnant single mother to tell her that if her local priests would not baptise her illegitimate child, he would do it himself.

When I first moved to Italy, I spent hours in rapt fascination learning about the gory matyrdoms of the early saints. But the Saint I've come to love best is Saint Francis, who to me represents what the church was always supposed to be: the church that people like you and I wanted to believe in when we were young and didn't know each other, and that by the time we met we had both turned away from - irrevocably in your case - because the institution that existed before us bore too little resemblance to the things we thought the powers that be would want us to hold dear. And in the absence of strong leaders, the truly good men and women - from Mother Teresa to Archbishop Tutu, from the hardworking Don Mauro of Morimondo to my football-reffing, film-festival founding Anglican vicar grandfather - seemed like anomalies rather than the rule.

And yet, their hard work persists. You'd have appreciated - like no-one else I know - the moment I shared with my cousin Denise a few weeks ago, outside the Villa d'Este at Tivoli. Here, outside this epic monument to cardinal excess, stands a statue of that other Francis, a perfect symbol of humble service. Dee stopped to take endless pictures because "it's so rare to see him depicted like this, looking like the Saint that I know".

That this pope chose that name said much about his intentions. It's thrilling now to see him translating ideals into action for a thoroughly modern world. He's more popular than Obama on the Internet, and his twitter tag (yes, he has one! @pontifex. Get in!) is the 4th most used in that particular fly by night universe. He has already become one of the great liberals of our time. 

Now all we need is for him to make a quick call to Tony Abbott, to tell him to stop being a knobend, and that his policies on refugees, on climate change and a host of other things, are offensive to God.

And if a call from him could bring you back, I'd write to him, and pray.

Because there are moments in life...

And never have regrets...

It's been a while since your birthday, or any other kind of 'Mikko-significant' day, has triggered this much mental exercise for me. I promise you I'm okay, you're just on my mind a lot. Anyway, I saw this and it made me think of you. Rakkain terveisin, Gigiltasi xo

I read his words, I hear your voice

We saw 'Wilde' together at a cinema in South Yarra and sat in awe of Stephen Fry's utterly authentic bringing to life of one of English literature's greatest wits. Your respect for him would have deepened immeasurably - as mine did - when in 2006 he released "The secret life of the Manic Depressive". It was a brave and honest window into his life and mind, and it made many people we know think of you. They wondered what I knew - how much of his thoughts had echoed in your head.

Today, I'm reading another brave offering from this brilliant man with a sometimes broken mind: blunt and sometimes brutal details of a suicide attempt in 2012. You'd have preferred the drama of Hunter S Thompson, who also took his own life around the time you died. But I want to stand up and embrace Stephen Fry for living through such a painful moment (albeit accidentally) and then having the guts to write it down and publish it in all its unglamorous truth.

But some truths don't have to be dramatic to have impact. Parts of Stephen Fry's words go like this:

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.

Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.

I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.

In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.
Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.
I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
- See more at: http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/#sthash.oEsJ8Dr4.dpuf

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.
Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.
I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
- See more at: http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/#sthash.oEsJ8Dr4.dpuf

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.
Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.
I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
- See more at: http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/#sthash.oEsJ8Dr4.dpuf

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.
Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.
I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
- See more at: http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/#sthash.oEsJ8Dr4.dpuf

I can be sad for personal reasons because I am often forlorn, unhappy and lonely. These are qualities all humans suffer from and do not qualify (except in their worst extremes) as mental illnesses.
Lonely? I get invitation cards through the post almost every day. I shall be in the Royal Box at Wimbledon and I have serious and generous offers from friends asking me to join them in the South of France, Italy, Sicily, South Africa, British Columbia and America this summer. I have two months to start a book before I go off to Broadway for a run of Twelfth Night there.
I can read back that last sentence and see that, bipolar or not, if I’m under treatment and not actually depressed, what the fuck right do I have to be lonely, unhappy or forlorn? I don’t have the right. But there again I don’t have the right not to have those feelings. Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
- See more at: http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/#sthash.oEsJ8Dr4.dpuf

I read this post, and I hear your words, spoken in your voice in my head. Only unlike you, and mercifully for the legions who love him personally and we millions who love his work, he is still here. 

After you died, there were SO many people who had heard you say, just once, "I'm so lonely". We didn't know to get together and tally all those moments of loneliness up until after you were gone. And - maddeningly - it mightn't have made a moment of difference if we had.

Many of us - including more than a few folk with degrees in psychology - have surmised that probably YOU were an undiagnosed 'manic-depressive'. Jarkko and I talked about it in the 24 hours after you died.. "Here was a man," he said from your phone at my ear, "who could go from soaring through clouds, a million miles high, to lying on the ground - in a nanosecond".

I wonder if you thought it too, with your fear of medication and your outright refusal to ever go see a doctor, even for bog-standard medical issues like chest infections and bronchitis. I can't tell you how often I've wondered if medication could have helped you stay - if only you'd been prepared to countenance taking it. I KNOW how scared you were - of the thoughts in your head, and the fear that medication would take away all your highs but do nothing to curb the darkest lows, and leave you alone at midnight with nothing left of yourself except your fears.

For all your brilliance, your charisma and charm, you lacked the wit to realise that YOU CHOSE to embrace the darkness, just as you chose to be an anarchist, humanist, citizen-of-the-world, medievalist; a music-loving, slow-bowling expat-Finn and honorary Australian; a husband, son, brother-in-arms, lover, friend. I'm sorry that none of us could reach deep enough into your loneliness to keep all the rest of that to the fore for you. I'm sorry you felt like you had only one choice left.

I still miss you, and wish you were here. You'd have been so proud of the efforts of a very brave man this week. And, perhaps, the words that express his loneliness might have been enough to reach across your void and touch yours...

If only it weren't too late for you to know. About all of it.
Love you always,
Georgiltasi x

Rakas Mikko,
I can't help wondering what manner of man you'd be if you were actually turning 41 today. What other choices might you have faced, deeds done, maybe demons mastered and probably mistakes made, in all the days since you were 32. It still feels impossible sometimes, that someone who brought so much inspiration, love, laughter and self-belief into the lives of others isn't still out there in the universe, somewhere, doing Mikko-shaped things. 

Wherever you went when you left, today there will be prosecco to toast you here. 

Hyvää syntymäpäivää.