As I was scrolling through Facebook yesterday I noticed that one of my
friends from the village where I grew up is going to an event today.
“Pete’s Send Off”. I clicked the link to see the Pete in question in a
smiley picture with an oddly familiar face. He’s someone I went to
school with, I hadn’t seen him in probably 18 years. Now I feel old. The
event had been created by someone else whose name I recognised, Dave.
Suddenly a flood of memories engulf me about being sat in Mr Johnstone’s
form room; David and Peter (as they tended to be called then) would sit
with Ian, Daniel and some others. I remember that David and Peter were
thick as thieves most of the time. Obviously little had changed, Dave’s
cover picture was of the pair of them. They would be 32/33 and had been
friends for more than 20 years. Except something had changed.
Pete’s send off. It’s not impossible that someone in their 30s to
have gone bald but the blurb on the event confirmed what I had assumed
from the pictures. This was no bon voyage party. Pete had been suffering
from cancer, he had lost his fight and now it was time for those who
were close to him to celebrate his life.
I started thinking back to my school days and remembered about
another girl in our form. Helen. She lost her life probably 11 years ago
now. She died as a result of a car accident whilst travelling into the
neighbouring village from Leicester, a journey she possibly wouldn’t even have done
these days as a bypass was built 5 years ago. It struck me how if I
could find a picture of our class as it was then there would be two
faces on it that would never grow old. I wonder if we knew the age we
would live to whether it would change how we would live our lives? Would
I really want to bother with going to school when there was a whole
world out there and I only had till I was 21 to see it all. I found
tears pricing my eyes at the thought that if I knew that I was not going
to see 33 I may have decided not to get involved in a relationship or
have children, not wanting to put either my partner or my kids through
the trauma of losing such an important part of their lives while they
are so young. The thought of not ever experiencing the joy that I do
with my boys was quite saddening, something that I would never have
really understood until they were born.
I also wondered if I would have acted any differently towards them,
if I knew they only had a few more years to live, not that I was a b!tch
mind, just that perhaps I’d have given them a bit more of my time,
listened to them a bit harder, noticed more things about them that would
keep their memories alive now they are gone.
I remember Helen telling one of her favourite stories. That she was
born in front of a set of double doors as her mum didn’t get into the
delivery room in time and that she was blue as the cord was round her
neck. Pete I don’t remember any specific events, just that he was a good
looking lad (who grew into a good looking bloke if the pictures on
Facebook were anything to go by), I remember he was a cheeky type but
was generally nice lad – well as nice as any 12-14 year old boy is to
any 12-14 year old dweeb like I was.
My final thought was for their parents, as any parent will know the
thought of losing your child is horrific. At work I see these parents
facing that head on while their children battle on against the cancers
that have taken over their lives. I have admit on days where we treat
children I have to leave the fact I’m a parent at the hospital door. I
think I’d fall apart.
I have lost other friends before, much closer ones too, but somehow the
ones from so far back who I know that have died affect me differently,
as if we were so young with so much of life in front of us.
Maybe I can’t go back and do things
differently for Helen or Peter but I can think what I can do if this day
were my last, or the last of those who I meet. I can teach my kids
about the value of friendships, I didn't have a friend who was like Pete
was to Dave or vice versa. Though I am still friends with my best
friend from that time, she moved north and I moved south so we only
manage to keep in touch through Facebook and Skype. So thank you Pete, I
may
not have seen you since we were 14 but in your pictures you look like
you had joy in your life and given the number of people attending your
“send off” you were a nice enough person to have lots of friends, and
today you helped remind me that the important part of life is who you
are to others; be nice, you might not get another chance. I hope your
send off was everything you hoped it would be.
