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Published: April 6th 2015
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“Hey guys, I got some bad news about Paul.”
Those were the words that we – the group of my closest friends – received nearly one year ago while enjoying our weekly night out at the pub. Over the years our weekly ritual at the pub has become almost a second home where we share stories, drink our fill of Guinness, play darts and escape from anything going on outside. It is the same place where we have celebrated each other’s successes, mourned each other’s losses and shared countless hours of time immersed in our ‘shits and giggles’.
As we stopped our game of darts and put down our pints, we huddled around as were told that Paul, one of our dearest friends, had just been diagnosed with cancer.
“But he’s so young!”
“And he’s in excellent shape!”
“Is there a history of cancer in his family?”
None of us knew what to make of our forty-six year old comrade. Thinking about his two young daughters and a girlfriend of countless years, it just didn’t seem possible.
As the months marched forward, we would visit him at the hospital and see our once active
friend, confined in a place none of us wanted to imagine him in. But we were all positive knowing that Paul was not only an intense and optimistic person, but a fighter who did anything he put his mind to; anyone who has ever watched him golf or throw a game of darts knows the focus and determination that defined Paul in mind, body and spirit.
That was a year ago.
This morning as I woke up to a warm, sunny day in China, I was surprised to turn on my computer and see a steady stream of emails from my friends back home.
“It is with great sadness that Paul passed away this afternoon.”
I was – am – heartbroken.
It is moments like these that again remind us of the fragility of life. So fleeting.
In an instant I was taken back to the many Christmas dinners that Paul and I shared when neither of us had any other place to go but didn’t want to be alone. And the many nights that we bounced from bar to bar, dancing, drinking, laughing and wondering how we were going to function the next
day. From the countless evenings listening to the turntable belt out tunes from the 70s and 80s – what will in time become the soundtrack of our life – to the coffee shop meetings when we were in the mood to talk of life or business or troubled romance, to the late night BBQs when we simply stared at the sky and wondered.
It is hard to reflect on Paul knowing that he is now gone, knowing that any new stories have come to an end. But I also feel at peace for it would be selfish not to appreciate the memories we had, the times we shared and the impact we had on each other in the moment and through all the years that would follow.
Sitting here on the other side of the world, I feel so removed and unable to take part in the celebration of what was Paul’s life. I think of my family and friends back home, but remind myself that memories are made wherever you are; and while I wish I could share in the celebration of life with those of us who knew Paul best, in my own quiet way, I
am already there.
May my wonderful friend sleep well and may his energy emerge renewed and free!
Thanks for the memories Paul... cheers!
-Your friends
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Cheri
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Memories
Sean, I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. What a hard thing to go through. Your post was a lovely tribute.