My friend Andy passed away most unexpectedly last September. I think about him every day. Small things remind me of him constantly.
One by-product is I have no desire to write. I’ve come to realise that a lot of my scribblings were a means to keep him informed. He’d lived in another country for so long. Absent him there is no-one really that I want to write for. It’s a bit sad, but I’ve realised that now.
Time is the great healer, but his untimely death has left an unfillable hole in my life – so many things we’d laughed about which no-one else would find funny. It’s less the specifics, more that a whole part of the landscape of my life has disappeared. Absent him no-one else will ever be interested in swathes of our shared experiences.
I miss ‘my friend Andy’ (as I always referred to him to my family) and I am endlessly sad that he’s no longer here to read my scratchings and to laugh, correct, disagree with, indulge and cheer me.
Most of all, I’d hoped we’d waste hours in deckchairs chuckling and watching the world go round; as old men. Perhaps interspersed with the odd game of backgammon just to keep us jousting…
Sadly that most important of deckchairs is now empty.