Off to a funeral tomorrow. The father of one of my best friends has died. I’m there to support my friend, but I knew his father also, a lovely, gentle, earthy man from the north of England. He was not young, and his passing falls into the category of inevitable, but it’s no less sad for that.
My friend lives in Mullumbimby now, and I see him rarely. He called me when he came down as his father ailed, and we hoped to catch up, but it was not to be. I haven’t seen him for ages, and when I see him now, it will be at his father’s funeral.
I got the message last night. I wondered, as always, how to respond. I kept it simple and real. It’s a hard time, and it’s not for me to make it harder. I felt sad though, sad for my friend, and his family – all lovely people, sad for his father, who I really liked, and finally I felt sad for myself remembering what it was like to lose a parent.
I’ll be there to pay my respects and support my friend. There’ll be at least one other mutual friend there. At the end of the day over a cold beer, the memories will flow, and the sadness edged with fond remembrance. For a little while, we’ll live with the knowledge of mortality. It will be real and gape within us like a precipice we can’t see over. There’s something enlivening in that, and as we who remain toast to our memories we’ll head home later grateful to be alive and among friends.