This is my first post, of my very first blog, and a bit scary.
I feel like I’m standing on a stage blinded by the spotlight, my voice echoing into a huge black auditorium of empty seats. Strange feeling. But I’ve always liked trying new things. So here goes…
I was wondering where to start, when the obvious occurred to me. Greg. One of my very best friends died two years ago today, at age 44. I slept through the midnight phone call from his ex-wife and best friend of mine, and woke up to her message on Remembrance Day.
Greg had the most amazing smile.
His big grey eyes always shined with mischief and childlike innocence and you just couldn’t possibly be in a bad mood around him. During the 11 months he was sick, he never once complained to me.
I remember asking him how he was doing and he said, "Well… I can hardly eat, I can hardly walk, and I can hardly breathe. But other than that, I’m awesome!!"
That was Greg.
In his 44 years, he lived three times the life most people do. If he wanted to do something, he went for it. He never worried too much about what other people thought.
He told everyone not to worry about him. He had lived a good life. A great life, in fact. He said he was going to heaven to play poker with his dad. We should be having a party here too.
Our little wake
So that’s what we did. Late in November, his long time best friends all got together for the first time in years for his funeral. We travelled up to his home town of Powell River and had a party in his house. It was just like the parties we’d had twenty years ago. We drank and laughed and reminisced. It was the most fun we’d had – well probably since the last group party.
It might sound a bit odd, like we weren’t supposed to be having such a good time. But it’s exactly what he would have wanted. In fact, I was sure I could feel him watching and laughing too.