Perspective...

Yesterday I visited a friend in hospital. I say a friend - he taught me 'A' level French over 30 years ago. We got in touch on Friends Reunited in 2007 and we've corresponded ever since. Earlier this week he rang to let me know he had probably got cancer and was in hospital for tests and pain relief. My immediate reaction was to ask if he'd like me to visit, and he was so thrilled that I went the next day.

I took the train up to Leeds. Even though my daughter had warned me about the charge to use public toilets, I was a little shocked at finding the station ones cost 30p. I showed my age by muttering darkly, "Six shillings! That's 72 old pennies! Inflation? Pah!" and walked cross-legged to the bus stop...

People were very friendly (as I'd expect in Yorkshire - still, it was nice to be right!) and someone showed me the stop I needed. St James' is HUGE - I found the right bit of it without too much trouble, and stopped off for a coffee before searching for my friend's ward.

As I sat there collecting my thoughts, I decided to write a poem for my friend in the blank card I'd bought. I wondered what one puts under such circumstances... everyone responds differently to the news of terminal illness, but I felt that if it were me, I'd like to know I wasn't going to be remembered just for being an invalid.

Here's the poem. It's not great literature, I didn't have time to polish it much, but it came from the heart and I know he loved it...

FOR JACK
Since we last met...
Thirty Christmases have come and gone;
Yet still I see you as you were back then.
Patiently dealing with our teenage silliness,
Coaxing us to a deeper knowledge of the grammar for which our school was named.
Still images are imprinted on my mind;
'Le Grand Meaulnes' - a film in Leeds -
Your dry humour, love of crosswords,
The sudden silence when you raised your voice
Because we'd gone too far.

We never kept in touch, but through the years
I have remembered you.
As I drink tea, and wait to come and find you on the ward,
My mind will not allow me
To see you any older than you were.
I replay the moving pictures...
You trudge across a bridge,
Perhaps you glance to see the river
Meander past the boathouse to the weir.
And then you climb a slope.
I walk behind you, watching,
Waiting for the moment when your back straightens, your weariness lifts,
Your face a happy beacon
As your little daughters run to you.
You drop your briefcase, scoop them to your shoulders,
Hold them close...

That's how I remember you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

We had a great time catching up. There no strangeness between us, none of the awkward shyness you can feel when you meet an old teacher. We simply met soul-to-soul, and took great comfort in it.

Perspective. Life in perspective. What really matters? Estranged family had been to see him in hospital - bridges were being built. Love was shining through and triumphing.

Whatever happens, I hope he will take comfort from my memories of him as a young man full of vigour and love for his family. That's how I remember him.