To help achieve it, he and his wife take “Tim timeouts” from dwelling on their grief. “It sounds a bit military, but you have to be military to handle this,” he said. “We are very vulnerable.” He said it helps, as well, to speak the word “suicide,” something he could not do before. “I use the word as often as I remember to use it,” he said. “I have to get used to the word.”
The next day, three of Avicii’s closest friends gathered to offer their own memories. They visited the middle school where they all met, pointing out where they used to sneak cigarettes and alcohol. They talked, too, about the computer games that obsessed them. “We were nerds,” Von Bahder said. “We went into music to interest girls. It didn’t work.”
Strolling the neighborhood, the friends advanced to Ciao Ciao Grande, a favorite spot for pizzas over the years.
Directly across the street from their table lies the musician’s final resting place. “He didn’t have far to go,” Von Bahder joked. It’s on the grounds of Hedvig Eleonora Church, where the name Tim Bergling appears on a plain plaque not much bigger than a playing card, one of 48 such demarcations on a grid hung on a wall. The star’s exact burial spot isn’t indicated, to stress modesty and to maintain privacy. “It’s very Tim,” Frederik Boberg, another friend, said.
The friends didn’t linger long. In that same vein, they have chosen not to speculate much on the motivations behind his death. And while they’ve heard the new lyrics, they’re loath to look too closely at them for clues.
Falk, on the other hand, remains haunted by them. “Now, when I listen, I hear a lonely person with a lot of big emotions that he didn’t have enough people to talk to about,” he said. “I feel this music was his way of getting some of that out. That makes this a really important record. Whatever Tim wanted to say is here.”