What about me?

It is not often I feel sorry for myself and what I am about to share, although might read like I could be doing just that, (certainly the title eludes to such maudlin). But I hope that from sharing these sentiments, you will read that they stem from a far deeper place and in writing them to the surface, I hope they might be transformed into a place of peace. 

I lost a close friend recently. His death was unexpected and as he had been living on his own, his body wasn't found until after the alarm was raised on the 3rd day of him not turning up for his work. I don't know what makes me more sad, the fact that he is dead, or that his death remained undiscovered for a few days. 

But Tim lived his life with minimal fuss. I believe he died the way he existed. Quietly and never making a scene. He was found lying on his bed and I can only hope for his ending to be peaceful and painless. I had spoken to him only a few days prior to his passing. I was compelled to call him, the feeling came as an urgency that I must speak with him. We had a good conversation, but during that time, I had feeling that our souls were saying goodbye. As we were chatting, I kept seeing my 2 Springer Spaniels in my minds eye. Their presence was so visceral, that I found myself communicating with them, asking what they were doing here. It all made sense after I learnt of Tim's death. They were there to help guide him home. Tim adored my 2 dogs and they in turn adored him. He was their favourite Uncle. 

Tim was dependable and was always popping in to see them after work. He even had a dogs bed permanently by his log burner so that they would feel at home whenever they went to stay if ever I were away. But it wasn't just the dogs he looked after. 

I met Tim when I was in my late 20's. He was volunteering for the Watercress line, painting the old stations and I used to see him in the village pub afterwards. It wasn't long before I joined the crew and from there on in, Tim became a close friend. I introduced him to my friends and family and before long, he would come along to family holidays, family events as well as joining in with all our Christmas gatherings. Tim saw me through relationship breakup's, he would help pick up the pieces during all my tumultuous periods of life without judgement. He cared deeply and I know that there would have been a time he would have gladly stepped into my boyfriends shoes. I am ashamed to admit it, but at the time, I didn't handle his feelings well, young and immature that I was back then. Fortunately for me, he forgave my carelessness, we somehow muddled through and an even deeper unspoken bond formed. But it is surprising how in death, you realise how little you know of someone, even a twenty year friendship, there are secrets and untold truths. Perhaps it was the nature of his work that kept him so private. There was so much he couldn't share with me or indeed anyone and in more recent years as his work evolved, the void of the unsaid became wider and the chasm of our friendship grew. Nonetheless, in all connections, there exists a far deeper form of interaction and we don't have to be near one another to know how the other is feeling. And even now, although Tim no longer resides on earth in the physical, I can sense him from afar. But it doesn't stop me missing him. 

Tim hasn't been the only friend to die this year though, and I have found myself wondering who will I have left to reminisce of the old days over a cuppa. Who will be here to remember me when I die and speak of the life that I lived and the achievements I made?

What is making things even harder for the emotions of grief to be possessed, is that there has been no funeral for Tim. Not even a memorial or celebration of his life. It was his wish. However for those left behind, I am not sure how conducive it is, to not have the opportunity to share ones grief within a community of people who knew him. Did he think his friendships were so inconsequential that he didn't think it mattered? Or did he feel that he was unworthy of anyone caring enough to take the time to remember the life that he once lived?

As a consequence. the weight lays heavy on my shoulders right now, to continue sharing our memories we shared together for the fear of his life being forgotten.

Perhaps this is the way of all things. Our legacies won't be left in the stuff we leave behind, or the thoughts or things we believe are ours to own, but rather marks we leave in peoples hearts. 

Our memories of the souls gone before us, will be told through the art of storytelling and stories will become entwined with the lives of the people that are telling them. Tales of tenacity, courage and bravery, humbleness, and quiet determination, will be shared across the land. Maybe it is not important to remember the names of who they began with, or even where they will end, as long as they help inspire, encourage and offer comfort. Perhaps part of living is learning the art of letting go. We are here for just a moment in time. We cannot take anything with us when we die, so when we really think about it, how strange it is that we are so obsessed with the need to define ourselves through identity and possessions. I know that how I will remember Tim will probably be very different to how someone else who knew him. What a rich tapestry of experiences our stories contain. All that remains will be nothing but love.