Funeral for a friend
Created | Updated May 17, 2003
My oldest friend has died.
She was forty-five. Not old. She died of bowel cancer, which is a disease I know far too much about.
If she'd been in Britain these last years, maybe I would have recognised her symptoms faster than she did. Or maybe not. I'll never know now.
But she was in California. Working in a health center(sic) of some sort as a specialist in hands and making them work better after injury.
I found out after she had died. After the funeral. A few hours before they scattered her ashes in the Pacific Ocean. No-one told me, because I wasn't on her church friends list of approved contacts. And her family didn't get to her address book in time to inform anyone else.
She'd been ill for two months.
I took myself to a friend's house. On auto-pilot, with the friend in the car. Luckily. Keeping me sane until I got to somewhere safe. Then letting me let go.
I wept out my grief that night. I also got drunk. Not forgetful drunk, but drunk enough to cry, and to call out my love and my sadness and my anger - and to honour her memory and her life as I needed to.
There is so much to be glad about, you see? As well as sad.
I am glad I met her on my first day at school. I am even glad we were both bullied, because we became stronger together.
I am glad we went on holidays together.
I am sad we couldn't go on more of them.
I am glad we counted all the thousand and more steps from Glion to the valley below.
I am glad we didn't know what 'non-potable' meant.
I am sad we couldn't have had longer in Switzerland.
I am glad we stayed out late and ran through the streets at the fire-festival.
I am glad we didn't know at the age of fourteen that you didn't sleep inside the covers of the duvets.
I am glad we got soaked in St. Mark's Square. And I am glad we didn't care.
I am sad we never managed to look under David's figleaf...
I am glad we ate real pizza on the Ponte Vecchio.
I am glad we discovered exactly why the Two Gentlemen of Verona were so keen to move to Venice.
I am glad we got told off for sitting on the steps of the Vatican.
I am sad we never saw the Aurora Borealis.
I am glad we got drunk in Florence.
I am glad we decided to drive home in the middle of the night even though we both had to work the next day.
I am glad we had hard times, because we cried together.
I am sad we had to cry together when laughing was so much more fun.
I am glad we had good times, because we laughed together - at all the wrong things.
I am glad we had so much in common - and so little. And I am glad it didn't matter.
I am glad we spent all the bus fare on fairground rides and had to walk three miles to get home.
I am glad we didn't get found out...
I am glad we went to the fireworks displays and shouted in the crowds.
I am sad that so many of your men were such shits.
I am glad we walked the soles of our shoes into holes in the Peak District.
I am glad we broke down in Wales.
I am sad you never had children - you'd have made a good mother.
I am glad we went to York and pretended to be experts on steam engines...
I am glad we stood in Cambridge solemnly looking at the roof of one building until we had attracted a crowd of tourists...
I am glad we liked the same films.
I am glad we didn't like the same men...
I am glad we cooked those really bad meals...
I am glad we loved art and music, sculpture and wine...
I am sad we had such a short time together.
I am glad we had such a long time together.
I am infinitely glad to have so much to remember...
And I am infinitely sad that now, I am the only one on this earth who can remember so much of the life that was you.
Blessings, my friend.
I loved you. And I still do.
She was forty-five. Not old. She died of bowel cancer, which is a disease I know far too much about.
If she'd been in Britain these last years, maybe I would have recognised her symptoms faster than she did. Or maybe not. I'll never know now.
But she was in California. Working in a health center(sic) of some sort as a specialist in hands and making them work better after injury.
I found out after she had died. After the funeral. A few hours before they scattered her ashes in the Pacific Ocean. No-one told me, because I wasn't on her church friends list of approved contacts. And her family didn't get to her address book in time to inform anyone else.
She'd been ill for two months.
I took myself to a friend's house. On auto-pilot, with the friend in the car. Luckily. Keeping me sane until I got to somewhere safe. Then letting me let go.
I wept out my grief that night. I also got drunk. Not forgetful drunk, but drunk enough to cry, and to call out my love and my sadness and my anger - and to honour her memory and her life as I needed to.
There is so much to be glad about, you see? As well as sad.
I am glad I met her on my first day at school. I am even glad we were both bullied, because we became stronger together.
I am glad we went on holidays together.
I am sad we couldn't go on more of them.
I am glad we counted all the thousand and more steps from Glion to the valley below.
I am glad we didn't know what 'non-potable' meant.
I am sad we couldn't have had longer in Switzerland.
I am glad we stayed out late and ran through the streets at the fire-festival.
I am glad we didn't know at the age of fourteen that you didn't sleep inside the covers of the duvets.
I am glad we got soaked in St. Mark's Square. And I am glad we didn't care.
I am sad we never managed to look under David's figleaf...
I am glad we ate real pizza on the Ponte Vecchio.
I am glad we discovered exactly why the Two Gentlemen of Verona were so keen to move to Venice.
I am glad we got told off for sitting on the steps of the Vatican.
I am sad we never saw the Aurora Borealis.
I am glad we got drunk in Florence.
I am glad we decided to drive home in the middle of the night even though we both had to work the next day.
I am glad we had hard times, because we cried together.
I am sad we had to cry together when laughing was so much more fun.
I am glad we had good times, because we laughed together - at all the wrong things.
I am glad we had so much in common - and so little. And I am glad it didn't matter.
I am glad we spent all the bus fare on fairground rides and had to walk three miles to get home.
I am glad we didn't get found out...
I am glad we went to the fireworks displays and shouted in the crowds.
I am sad that so many of your men were such shits.
I am glad we walked the soles of our shoes into holes in the Peak District.
I am glad we broke down in Wales.
I am sad you never had children - you'd have made a good mother.
I am glad we went to York and pretended to be experts on steam engines...
I am glad we stood in Cambridge solemnly looking at the roof of one building until we had attracted a crowd of tourists...
I am glad we liked the same films.
I am glad we didn't like the same men...
I am glad we cooked those really bad meals...
I am glad we loved art and music, sculpture and wine...
I am sad we had such a short time together.
I am glad we had such a long time together.
I am infinitely glad to have so much to remember...
And I am infinitely sad that now, I am the only one on this earth who can remember so much of the life that was you.
Blessings, my friend.
I loved you. And I still do.
