Saying goodbye to John
John’s daughter rang me to say that her dad had died. John
and I had been great friends when we were young. John’s dad came to our village as the local vicar,
and we met at church when we were both 10 years old. For the next five years,
we were inseparable. We spent hours together playing football, darts, and snooker.
As budding athletes, we built sand pits and long jump run-ups in the massive
but overrun garden of the vicarage. We enjoyed riding our bikes and
experimenting with smoking. He was the close friend I had always wanted, and I
was very upset when he had to leave the village. He moved to Sunderland where his
dad had a new job. We kept in touch and visited each other but it was never
quite the same after that. Eventually, John’s dad started a new career teaching
religious studies at my school. I was in the upper sixth and John came into the
lower sixth. When I married he was my best man and our friendship continued on and off throughout the remainder of John’s
life. We spoke on the phone only a couple of weeks ago and he was looking forward to meeting up in Durham next week. I
have such vivid memories of our time as young teenagers and I am left feeling
quite bereft. This feels like the end of an era and in a sense reinforces the
feeling of loneliness that comes from my depression. It is always a comfort
when you know someone is there, even when you don’t see them often. I’ll miss
you John and the world is a little emptier than before.
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