It is coming up to two months since my good friend passed away suddenly. I have been reflecting a lot about our history, friendship, and the moments we took for granted because we made the assumption that we would always have another chance to catch up and reconnect.
As we all get older and have more demands on our time due to work, family and life, our social circle gets much smaller. The time between seeing each other gets longer and longer. And people fall out of your life. We all head off on our own adventures, but if you’re lucky, you can reconnect and pick up where you left off.
I put a lot of effort into reconnecting with people. It is something I enjoy, and on some levels, it fills up my “cup” to tackle the challenges before me. I wish I could tell you that I get to reconnect with everyone. Still, I would be lucky for ten SMS/emails I send if one comes back, usually out of polite curiosity. Thirty go by, and that leads to seeing some catch-up. I used to take it personally, but now I realise it is the flow of life. Time is precious, and that created a special bond with my friend as we would see each other at regular intervals throughout the year, keeping in touch through the magic of SMS in between.
My friend’s name is Craig Tonkin. Much of the work I have done creating handmade toys over the last couple of years has been inspired by his love of the toys we grew up with. It was the way I could reconnect with him, as we would share his passion.
If you want to see more about what he loved, you can explore his Instagram page Tonks Toys.
Craig and I met at film school and shared the same passions. In a very short period, I found myself helping each other with film projects at school. We spent copious amounts of time discussing Star Wars, toys, cartoons, and everything we grew up and loved.
Two months ago, we went to a local toy fair, which we would do every three months. It was our opportunity to grab breakfast, catch up, and then geek out as we walked around the toy fair, looking for those little pieces we loved. The fun of it was doing it with Craig. We would share our knowledge, double-team the vendors, haggle for a better price, and share funds when we didn’t have enough to cover what we wanted. I would never go by myself because the joy of the hunt was doing it with someone who had your back.
When you look back, some moments evolve, but, at the time, their meaning does not really register. It was raining that morning, and we would meet at my mother’s home and walk down to the fair. We discussed driving down but Craig suggested we walk. It’s only water right! I was happy to do so cause it meant that Craig and I had more time to catch up with all the family gossip and enjoy each other’s company. Just before we headed off, Craig commented that he wanted to say hello to my mother, and he did so by chatting with her and checking in. I know this was a big deal for her because, over the years, she mentioned how most of my friends saw her as “Gil’s mom”, but a few saw and interacted with her as “Ilana”, who happened to be Gil’s mom. She had always loved that, and I know she was flattered that Craig had taken the time to say hello.
As we were walking down the street, I remember looking at Craig and seeing a level of exhaustion on his face I had never seen before. I asked him if he was ok and how things were, and it was one of the rare times I remember Craig catching himself when answering. It was like he was being polite instead of spontaneous answering. It shocked me enough to notice it in the moment. After a hesitation, he told me he was really busy at work, and I got the idea he wanted to move on from the subject. Over the following weeks, I have asked myself if I should have asked more? What would have been the right thing to do if he knew something was wrong? Taken him to the emergency room? Over time, I have learned that people don’t want that kind of help; it makes them feel vulnerable, and that was the last thing I wanted to do to anyone, let alone my good friend.
We went to the fair, and like always, things caught our eye, and before you took two steps, we had both gone our separate ways, lost in a sea of people. That was part of the joy of going. Trying to find each other. I had the advantage of knowing Craig’s habits. Sooner or later he would want his morning tea, so I would hover around the tea cart, one eye on the cart, the other looking at what was available. Craig was such a regular that the cart lady knew us. I would rock up and she would shake her head if he had not picked up a tea yet. This little ritual will be something I will miss greatly.
Sooner or later, we would find each other and, together, walk the floor, sharing what we wanted, complaining about what we could not find, joking and laughing all the way. I can’t describe my joy for these moments, cause Craig has a fantastic energy that I have always enjoyed since we first met. Craig loved to be the “cheeky” boy who was always about to cross a line but always knew where it was, making you love him even more. He was my version of Rik Mayall, a British comedian who Craig loved, with his own fearlessness and knowledge of who he was, with a fearlessness about enjoying his passions and fuck anyone who was going to judge him for it. If it brought him joy, that was enough. In many ways, I was jealous of that, not because I wanted what Craig had but because I wanted to find my own place where that energy would shine out the way I experienced it with him.
At the end of the day, we said our goodbyes and planned our following catch-up. Little did I know that that was my last opportunity with Craig. Within 48 hours later, I had the sad news that he was no longer with us.
We all lose people. It is the way of life. Over the years, I have lost people in tragic and unexpected ways. Still, this time, I am challenged by the loss of Craig in a way I have never experienced before. I find myself overwhelmed in grief, surprised when all of a sudden I find myself crying at work, or waking up in the middle of the night to realise Craig is gone. While we kept in contact the best we could in busy times, knowing he was there brought me immense joy, and I always looked forward to the next time we caught up. I am honestly not ready to let go of that.
At Craig’s funeral, I saw Craig’s family, father, brother, and all the people who loved him. I thought I was ready for it all, but one moment kept reappearing over and over that, in the end, left me startled and confused.
When speaking with Craig’s father, he confirmed I had gone to the toy fair with his son. I was genuinely surprised that he knew we had gone. I knew that his brother knew Craig would have dinner that night with him and had shared the day. But as I walked around and saw people from the past, a lecturer from university, one of Craig’s oldest friends, and his step-sister, who I met for the first time, they all asked me the same thing. They all wanted to confirm that I was with him at the toy fair.
At the end of the service, they took Craig out to a hearse, and we all collected around to say goodbye to him on his final journey. I remember wanting to be close by and see the car clearly, so I stood beside a young lad, maybe 16 years old. He turned to me and asked, “Are you the friend of Liam’s dad who went to the toy fair with him?” I wasn’t really listening, caught up in the emotion of the moment and I thought he was asking about Craig’s son. I stammered something about being Craig’s friend, and he asked me again. Then, it hit me how much that Sunday morning meant to him. It was not just going to the fair but spending time together. And it seems everyone knew.
During the service, there was a bunch of photos on display. One came up of Craig and me when we were students working on my first film together. Craig was pulling a face, and I was laughing at him. Everyone laughed when it came up. I appreciated that it was added to the presentation, and I know Craig would have loved it if people had laughed at his antics. There was nothing more he would have enjoyed.
It is so hard to let them go when you really love someone. And while I have all my memories, SMSs, and the films we collaborated with, it’s still not enough. Maybe I am selfish about this; I had this amazing friendship, but I still grab my phone and want to send off an SMS about this or that or our ritual of getting tickets to the next toy fair, which would always set off the same routine. What time to be first in line, what address was your mother’s home (I honestly believe he knew, but it was part of the shtick) and the same excuses that he was on budget and his wife would kill him if he bought too much (she didn’t, but the hunt was more fun for Craig if he felt just maybe he was doing something a little bit naughty!)
I miss my friend. For Craig’s 50 birthday, I made him an oversized Transformer cassette (Ravage for those who know), and his card was the blister pack redesigned with all these little in-jokes we had. It took me nearly a year to make, and I loved building it for him. It was my way of showing him how much I loved him. It’s one of those projects I was so proud to have made and the skills I learned to finish it. Being a Star Wars fan, Craig made some uniquely Australian Star Wars-based fan films, which voiced Craig’s sense of humour. I created some Star Wars action figure cards based on the two main characters played by Craig and his brother. I like to share what I make, and one of the excuses is grabbing dinner together as a way to pass on these little projects. My last message with Craig was pushing him to lock down a dinner date. Unfortunately, that won’t happen now, but I passed on the card back to his brother at the funeral. I wish I didn’t wait. I know he would have loved to see himself as part of the medium (cinema and toys) he loved so much.
I don’t know how to finish this post. So I’ll leave it here and say, Val Craig Tonkin. Till the next time I see you, my friend…
