Death of a Friend

I got word yesterday of the death of an old friend. The news was not unexpected, still it remains a shock. Of course, at this age death is as close as each morning’s obituaries. When you see more and more people who have died younger than yourself it makes you take a deep breath. 

It has been a while since I have heard of a friend’s death. Many of my friends died young, mown down in some patch of jungle, or blown out of the sky. A year or so ago one of my contemporaries died just after he pitched a shot over a water hazard and made the green. That seemed a good way to go. 

The effects of COVID on our lives and restrictions to health services each death carries with it a latency for which most of us are unprepared. I knew my friend was ill. How ill only became apparent in recent weeks. He lived in Britain and was under their gyrating phases of lock downs and quarantines.

We had been talking of us crossing the pond and paying him and his wife a visit as soon as it might be safe, but the pandemic put an end to such speculations.  

I will miss my friend. He and I shared some interesting times, traveling through Asia and Europe on business and once by convertible through Normandy in search of the perfect cidre. He was a good man and someone with whom one could talk a range of subjects from history to politics, to where to find the best oysters in France (Cancale). 

I am now left with the contemplation of my own demise and though I am not anxious or afraid for death, I would just like to think that my life meant something to someone.