A friend who died and what it taught me

Or how death can bring everything into perspective

Two weeks ago, I found out a friend died.

Today’s the funeral and I’m waiting for another friend to pick me up and we’ll drive to North London. I have tried to keep busy this morning and vacuumed the house, sprayed aerosol around as there is a strange pong emanating from the front room (it could be an old half-eaten banana under the sofa). I won’t name this friend as it is not my story to tell. The story I have to tell is only one fraction of her story.

I just have the bit that impacts on me.

My friend had cancer. She was younger than me, late forties and was one of those people who had a massive presence. I know there is a tendency to glorify the people we’ve lost, but I also know there is nothing anyone would say that is negative about her unless being ‘too colourful and too joyful’ is a crime.

She worked in the same industry (market research) and many times she came to me with her insecurities and many times I came to her with mine. In the last couple of years we emailed back and forth. I look through these emails now and am amazed at the advice that she gave - me always self absorbed, always talking about money, work, the future and my fears about everything going wrong.

She talked about her treatment, her exhaustion, but also a new perspective she’d gained. In one email she writes:

‘I’m doing well. I’m trying to focus on the things I love and spending time doing stuff and being with people that make me feel good. I don’t think I’ve ever had a period in my life when I have actively thought about this stuff as much as now. I am learning all the time about what makes me tick, happy etc and what really needs to go. It’s a shame that I needed to have a cancer diagnosis to actively do this. I think all your soul searching , writing, thinking about what works for you and what doesn’t is healthy, so good on you. Remember you can have and do exactly what you want and don’t compromise because life is short.’

At the time I’d left yet another job. Was blaming everyone and not seeing that I was the problem. I was the one that was in the wrong place. Was seeking something, wasn’t sure what. Felt miserable. Disorientated. Was questioning everything- where we lived. My relationship. My life.

My friend was going through treatment. Her life had become pin point clear. It was about survival. For her kids. For her husband. I can’t imagine it at all.

To be clear I don’t want to be trite and say - hey live your life whilst you can. Instead I want to reveal the clarity that comes to some people when they are trying to survive. I am sure my friend didn’t feel this clarity every day. I am sure there were more complex emotions, pain, grief, loss, fear, all those things.

Part of her experience however (in the mails she wrote) were about how everything unimportant disappears when you go through a trauma like the one she was living through. That (sometimes, not for all people) gain a mental clarity that allows them to see what is truly important.

All the noise and the expectations go away.

This is just one of the gifts that my friend has given me. There are bigger gifts she has given her children, her husband, her closer friends and I am sure they will talk about those too.

What I knew was just one part of who she was. What I took from her was much bigger than the relationship we had. An idea of how to appreciate life, how to try and be grateful, to be clear on what matters, to not be so full of fear that it stops you from living…the list goes on.

When I close my eyes I see her.

She is wearing a lopsided glittery wig. She is colour. Vibrant and unstoppable. It’s a work Christmas party. I want to sit next to her because everyone else is going to ‘talk shop,’ and she never does this unless something dramatic has happened and needs deeper analysis.

She has a glass of prosecco in one hand. She is laughing, a fully belly laugh, that makes her whole body shake. She is about to start dancing, and perhaps on this occasion I’ll join her because when she dances she makes it look easy. She isn’t afraid to make a dick of herself. Her laugh is infectious, filling the room. It blows all the pettiness away. All the disappointments and work politics.

In this moment she is not afraid. She is in her element. Telling everyone a story of some mishap that makes us all connect and feel more human.

This morning I went for a short run, I looked up at an aeroplane, one of those tiny ones that is super high up, you know sometimes how you can’t believe it’s possible for this hunk of metal to be orbiting the Earth. The solidity of my friend had moved on into another form. Part of her was inside my chest, and I would carry it with me. With each loss, a person leaves a part behind.

Thank you for this day. Thank you my friend.

Sleep well beautiful girl.