AND FINALLY

See old pals . . . before it’s too late

IT’S BEEN a thought-provoking seven days. One funeral in our village and another one near Ipswich — and I felt awed by the stories told about two very different women, whose deaths left another hole in the world.

These were not relatives of mine, nor even friends. Yet to be present at that last goodbye is an acknowledgement of John Donne’s allembracing dictum: ‘Any man’s death diminishes me.’ We also made t hree important visits. The first was to a superb care home in Devon where someone dear to us both is living, after enduring a grim time.

His life now is full of light and care ( if somewhat confused from time to time): many people visit regularly and he can enjoy his favourite gin and tonic with ‘guests’ as if at home. Which is as it should be.

The second visit was to an amazing woman in her 90s (also in Devon) nearing the end of an extraordinary life — at home, cared for by her devoted daughter. As the sunlight poured into her bedroom, she gripped my hand and said: ‘This is a beautiful place to die.’ And so it seemed to me, too.

The third was to see an old friend, l ong widowed (twice), who lives near Cambridge. I first met her as a young journalist and never lost touch.

This 81-year-old’s life has been marked by much sadness, yet she keeps busy, involves herself with church activities and helps the sick (despite her own ill health). I hadn’t seen her for eight years and felt very guilty. Quite rightly.

Time passes so quickly and we all seem to become busier with our own lives. And mortality frightens us all. Yet funerals help you realise what a mistake it is to postpone seeing those who are no longer young.

There’s always a seemingly good reason to avoid a visit which, deep down, we fear may upset us.

Yet one goodbye must be the last, so make that effort. The good news is that when you do, you can be rewarded by a totally unexpected joy.