Three years ago today, I lost one of my best friends to cancer. We had known each other for more than 25 years and shared many adventures together. We supported each other when we were down and applauded each other when we were up.
She died a week before her 52nd birthday. A year later, when I was 53, I got married for the first time – on what would have been her 53rd birthday. At the reception, alongside a photo of my dad, was a photo of the two of us in our heyday.
There’s something I’ve missed out of this story, though: I discovered she had cancer through a call from a mutual friend, almost three years after we had last seen each other.
Despite this I still think of her as one of my best friends, because I’m looking at it in the context of my adult life. Of course, when I heard the news I immediately regretted having lost contact and did a lot of soul-searching about the reasons why – mostly to do with us both being stubborn.
Of course, having to attend the funeral of a friend the same age as me had a profound effect. I can honestly say that, since she died, I have promised myself to make the most of every single day I’m on this planet – and if I can’t enjoy every minute of every day, then at least to appreciate what I have.
I started keeping a gratitude diary so that I could keep track of my blessings. But what it all boils down to is this: I’m alive, and she is not, so I feel a responsibility to make the rest of my life count for something.
I’ve let go of the guilt now, especially the guilt I felt at reaching a high point of happiness (meeting my future husband) while her life was ebbing away. I’ve also made peace with myself over the aching regret I felt at missing her final years.
Today, I honour her memory. And give thanks for this extraordinary thing called life.
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