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It had been a couple of years since George's passing, but it never seemed to get any easier for Ringo, any mention of his name or fleeting thought in his mind brought back the pain that never truly wavered. The hardest thing about grieving for Ringo was that he never truly felt he had the privacy to deal with it, they'd always be somebody asking about George: when was the last time he saw him, if they'd been close all these years and if he missed him. That final question was the most insulting, because of course he missed George; he missed him with every fibre of his existence, as much as any person could miss another. Some days were easier than others of course, but there wasn't a day that went by without a thought of George passing into Ringo's mind.
Ringo knew today would already be a little harder, attending an event for something - who could keep track these days? - which Olivia would also be attending. Ringo loved Olivia, she was the best thing to ever happen to George there was no doubt about it; she was kind and intelligent, managing somehow to keep George grounded for so many years. Seeing her would've been a joy, but every time Ringo saw her he couldn't help but thinking about the missing person between them.
They'd always speak to one another at events like these, Ringo especially liked to see how Dhani was getting on, and this occasion was no different. As Ringo approached her, he realised immediately there was something off by the expression of her face: he'd seen it a few times before, but not for years by this point. She approached Ringo with a hug, her charming smile lighting up her face.
"How are you?" She asked in her thick American accent, pulling away from the hug but leaving her hands resting on his shoulders.
Ringo smiled back at her "Alright, and yourself?" There was always an unspoken sadness between them, but both of them recognised its presence.
"Fine, fine." Olivia moved her hands away and began rummaging into her bag "I've got something for you."
"Oh?" Ringo asked, they'd given each other gifts before of course, but never in person.
Olivia pulled out a folded piece of paper, then handed it to Ringo with a smile "I found it inside the piano bench, can you believe it?"
Ringo accepted the paper gently "What is it?"
"It'll make sense when you open it, I'd wait until you're back home, though." Olivia explained, ever sweet.
Ringo eyed her quizzically "If you say so, thanks for whatever it is."
"You can thank me later." She brushed her hand over his arm softly, her eyes looked tearful, then gave it a quick squeeze before heading off into the array of people.
Ringo stood there for a few moments not moving, just holding the piece of paper in his hands. There was nothing more tempting than to open something when someone tells you to wait, but Ringo wanted to respect Olivia's advice; furthermore, if it was anything to do with George, Ringo didn't want to risk becoming an emotional wreck in front of all these people. And so he carried on mingling and drinking while the event carried on as if he didn't have the desperate urge to leave immediately, luckily time didn't pass too slowly.
When Ringo finally got home, he fished the paper out of his pocket almost instantly, but still didn't open it until he'd gotten comfortable in his living room. Now that he was finally able to look at it, part of him didn't want to. What could it even be? Ringo fumbled with the edges of the paper, it was clearly old from the way the sides had crumbled together, which no doubt meant that it was something George had written a long time ago. Ringo let out a heavy sigh, guessing what the contents might be would only make him feel more anxious, so it was best just to take a look. Now unfolded, he could see the paper was scrawled in an always familiar handwriting: George's. Ringo felt a pain already in his chest from seeing the curls of the letters, it was moments like this that made him realise just what little aspects of George he missed. Ringo powered through the initial ache and read the first line, it seemed to be a title of sorts.
Hey Ringo
The pain exponentially grew from this point on. Ringo knew it was silly to read these words as if George was speaking to him now, somewhere beyond this world, but it was difficult not to, especially when it felt so calming.
Hey Ringo now I want you to know
That without you my guitar plays far too slow
Ringo felt his face tightening, already a lump in his throat growing as he continued to read. A song written by George would've been enough of a struggle, one written to him was even worse, but a song written to him about their love for one another, their inability to be without one another, all only to be discovered long after George had passed, was near unbearable.
And Ringo let me say this to you
I've heard no drummer who can play it quite like you
Ringo found himself reading the words aloud, he wasn't quite sure when he'd started. He only wished he'd be able to hear George sing them, Ringo always thought he had such a beautiful voice. It wasn't the first time George had reassured Ringo on his drumming ability, it was impossible to forget the sight of all the flowers George had filled the studio with when he'd 'quit' the band all those years ago.
Wait a minute Mr G.
Stop flattering me
My drums sound bare
When your guitar's not there
Ringo let out a sad laugh, the kind you make when your brain registers the happiness before the pain. This wasn't a simple case of Ringo merely missing when they played together as The Beatles, the two of them had continued to play for years after that. George had written songs for Ringo across the years, he wondered why this one had never surfaced before.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Let me hear you playing
When had George written this? There was no date in sight, and considering it'd been stored away in Friar Park it could've been from any time at all. Had George even remembered he'd written it? During their years as The Beatles, George already had a plethora of songs he'd written that were just waiting to be recorded - many of then which never were.
Hey Ringo there's one thing that I've not said
I'll play my guitar with you till I drop dead
It was at this point that Ringo realised he'd started crying, a teardrop fell onto the aged paper and left a small mark which began to grow. He quickly dabbed his eyes, no matter how justified his emotions felt in that moment he couldn't let them ruin this now treasured piece. Even though these words were never written with the meaning they now had, Ringo couldn't help viewing them that way. All the little disputes they may have had in their whole lives of knowing one another, seemed to wash away with these words.
Well, G. it's really nice the things you say
But when you drop, please fall the other way
Another pained laugh, and more tears. Classic George, always ending with a joke even in the most sincere of situations. Ringo couldn't stop the tears from falling this time, he had to move the paper away to avoid drenching it.
Despite his weeping, Ringo still had a smile on his face, it was far too bittersweet to commit to one emotion. It felt like a new message, despite it clearly being several years old, that George was still able to communicate his love in this way. If anyone would've been able to somehow communicate through the vast and aching separation of death, Ringo thought it would've been George.
He imagined all the different George's of his life writing this down: whether it was the young, rebellious boy from Hamburg, the mopheaded cynic, the wise hippie, the gentle gardener or the mature and loving father he'd watched him become. While it was beyond upsetting to have experienced the loss of George, such a beautiful light in everyone's lives, in that moment Ringo felt blessed to have known him at all; especially to have been so important to him that he felt he'd immortalise their friendship in a song. Even though George never got round to finishing or recording it, Ringo didn't care, he'd cherish these words for the rest of his life.
For certain there is sadness where there is death, but in the memory of those we love there is true happiness and beauty.