Tag Archive: friendship


Today it is John’s birthday, though he didn’t realise it as he doesn’t know what day it is. I organised a birthday lunch yesterday to which some of his friends came. It was a lovely afternoon.

However time is marching by and many of the friends who were once close to him, and whom he’d never have deserted, are falling by the wayside.

This is a note I wrote to one today. He was one of John’s closest friends. I feel that all those close friends who have not been there should read it. I stress that I understand about commitments and this is not intended to those beautiful people who have been quietly wonderful.

“Hi X,
Thank you for your message. I can only guess that someone alerted you to my post as it was put up last Friday, taken down very quickly (to avoid embarrassment) and yet I’m only hearing from you today.
The last five and a half years have been an ordeal for John and I feel very sad and angry on his behalf that his friends, particularly those once close to him, have been absent.
It is embarrassing to have to beg for visits.
From here on in it is up to you. His birthday is Sept 9, put it in your phone if you wish.
I know if this had happened to any one of you he’d have you living in our house, or at the very least be visiting regularly. That’s the kind of friend he is.
I realise time marches on but the man who supported and loved you all deserves more than this.
That’s really all I can say.
In answer to your question, he’s still at the nursing home where he has been for almost five years.
If you visit, please leave a message on the white board.

John’s stroke and its aftermath caused (and still causes) immense sadness to our little family. However once the initial shock was over, the sadness was to be expected.
The abandonment by some friends has caused an unexpected sadness. In many ways this is much harder to take.
It is countered however, by the (also unexpected) love, kindness and loyalty shown by some who were barely known by us at the time of his stroke, and others whom I’ve met since.
I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

A New Chapter

On the eve of beginning a new job, having finally unpacked (almost) all of my stuff in my new place, and sporting a new hairdo to boot, I’m in a reflective mood.

The five year anniversary of The Boy’s stroke was a milestone, a difficult one. At times it seemed it crystallised my failure to work a miracle. I hadn’t thought of the task as miraculous but that anniversary made it so.

I still believe in miracles by the way.

The key word though, is failure. For five years I have felt, at times, that I failed him. And through failing him I had failed my children. I should have been able to rebuild what we had. I certainly thought I was capable of it.

So the anniversary was a low point.

Since then, much has changed. I’ve moved house and now have all my things around me once again.
I’ve cut my hair. Anyone who has done that knows it’s not trivial.
And I’m beginning a new job. Working in a very young company with people who are full of passion and enthusiasm.

These three changes were decisions I made completely on my own. The first life decisions I have ever made alone. 

Each one was a leap.

I may be unhappy in my house, hate my hair, and hate the job even more.

I don’t care. I made those decisions and that’s what makes me realise how far I’ve come. 

I’m learning to have faith in myself.

That has only been made possible by some wonderful people who’ve walked beside me, held my hand and been happy to let it go when I was ready.

I will never, ever be able to explain my gratitude.

I am so very lucky and I thank you all.


You kissed me three times
When leaving,
The last time we met.

You had done that once before.

I was left happy, elated.
But real life soon brought me down to earth.

This time, however,
Felt different.

The First Kiss
Was soft and warm, but polite.
On the lips, as always.

The Second Kiss
Weakened me.
I trembled.

And there was a Third.
And it was many things at once:

I saw your face
Like one
Leaping from the precipice.

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