Farewell at Day’s End

Cancer takes a friend

It’s been a beautiful day here in Melbourne and the sunlight is bright in the late afternoon. The shadows are creeping across the garden. And my heart.

I know death comes to us all, and I know it’s not something to be afraid of. But it’s rarely fair or welcome, and the process is unlikely to be pleasant.

I have a friend who is in the final stages of cancer, and he is meeting the challenge with grace and dignity and practicality. I met him for the first time fifteen years ago when he welcomed me with a much-needed hug in Frankfurt.

Hans can be a cantankerous and opinionated soul sometimes, but then again, most of us are now and then. He’s ruffled a few feathers, but find me someone who hasn’t, and I’ll show you someone so bland that they are hardly worth knowing.

Over the years, I’ve met Hans in odd places around the world, mostly at annual meetings of our online circle. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, shared the odd meal together, and his smile never fails to cheer.

I’m sorry that I won’t get to see Hans again, not in this year’s gathering in Berlin which he surely would have attended in good health, nor any other future meetings. Athens, San Francisco, Reykjavik…

However, at least I’ll remember him as glowing with energy, smiling like a champ, enjoying the world.

A generous soul, he helped many others along the way, often anonymously. Generous with his wisdom as well, and I’ll miss his social media offerings, always deeper and richer than a funny cat video or some silly meme.

I’m glad I got to participate in a hugbox — a parcel of presents and cards and messages from his friends — and I know that he is feeling loved by those who knew him. We rarely get to say everything we feel to the people we love, and I’m glad I was able to mumble some words last year.

But for now, I’m feeling rather bleak. In a few minutes, I’ll take a glass of something special, think some maudlin thoughts, and then do my best to enjoy this marvellous world.

There’s a beach in San Francisco I walk along sometimes. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend. I insist on walking by the very edge of the water, for I know that the sea will erase on the sand, the passage of our passing. And then, whenever I look out on the ocean, or a river, or the rain falling down, I think on those with whom I’ve shared this walk through life.

The footprints may fade, the ripples still, but in this great human community, they never really disappear. We affect others through glancing connections, through years of friendship, through shared lives, and our thoughts are passed along, as fresh in our minds as when some ancient looked at the sun setting over Africa or Athens, and admired the beauty of the sight. Or the elegance of some piece of philosophy: love thy neighbour, perhaps.

In the end, we rise from the one ocean of humanity, our eyes catching smiles and frowns, our hearts seeking love, our minds holding deep thoughts. We all take and we give back in some measure, and we all move our common humanity forward a little.

On the ocean’s surface, the ripples and waves move and tumble, peak and subside, but it’s all one ocean, and we are all part of it. Deep down, we are all one.

I’ve been happy to walk with Hans, and indeed, with all of my friends.

In the days to come, in the years to come, may we take heart in the lives of friends and family, and may we take every moment as precious. That happy retirement full of grandchildren and contentment, it may never come. But we have the here and now.

Thanks for listening to me. Farewells are bittersweet. Eventually, our walk along the beach comes to an end, we part, we may meet again. Or not.

But we have our memories. Beauty, truth and love: they last forever; they were here before we were, and they will remain after.

There may be pain in the sting of saltwater, but there is also happiness in the thoughts of those we loved.

Thanks again for listening. The sun has left the grass and is touching its last rays on the roses at the bottom of the garden. I’ll go and pour myself that glass now.

Britni

Hans in Spring:

Britni Pepper writes for Kindle Direct Publishing. She runs a blog where she reviews erotica, and rambles on about this and that. She may be reached on Twitter and Facebook.