This weekend’s trip to France has turned out to be a huge blessing. I am high in the mountains where it is hot and still with three good friends. It is the perfect place to quietly mourn the death of my friend.
I’ve been in e-mail contact with other people who knew Jack. All of us feel guilty that we didn’t do more to help him. One friend wrote and explained that they’d rowed and hadn’t spoken for two years. He’s been crying all weekend knowing they will never patch things up.
I am fortunate that this has happened so soon after my Journey work as last night in bed, I did the camp fire process with Jack. It went something like this.
I picture myself sat by a camp fire with Jack. His sister is there too. So is the dog they owned when we were neighbours. Jack looks healthier than he has done in years. I’d forgotten how piercing his eyes were before drink had dulled them.
I tell him I am sorry. I could have been a better friend. I should have called him on his birthday a few weeks ago. I wish I’d sent a card. He stops me mid sentence and smiles. He looks so happy. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he says. ‘You were a lovely friend. I was lucky to have you in my life. It’s okay. I’m okay.’
‘We had fun, didn’t we?’
I hug him. It’s a warm embrace. That’s something we never managed in real-life as he liked to keep people at arms length. His jokes were his armour.
Jack, his sister and the dog disappear into the flames as tears roll down my cheeks. I sleep soundly and when I wake up, the guilt that sat on my chest like a pool of tar, is gone.
The universe gives me everything I need.