There Are No New Old Friends – Part 6

Looking For Certainties

Swept in on the coat-tails of realising how durable memories our friendship will prove to be, unbidden I find myself looking for more, similar certainties. But it’s hard to pin down what I’m sure I actually know.

I know that what my friend thinks is right for him will be right for me. I don’t know if we’ll meet again but that’s in his hands, at least for as long as the cancer lets it be. I don’t know what will be possible for him, what will be practical. I don’t know what he might feel is best, for his health, for his peace, for his dignity, for his pride.

I know the prospect of death casts a very dark shadow over the best of us. And I understand I should believe my friend’s actual death will prove a blissful release for him. I can’t experience that bliss, of course I can’t. All I can do is try to believe that belief.

I know the older we get the more experiences we have or learn of, and hence the more sadness we live with. I can only hope knowing his death is near provides my friend at least the scant compensation of escaping that ever-growing burden. Immortality has a false allure; immortality would heap sadness upon sadness for eternity.

I know that when he dies I should remember that my tears will be wholly vain and, yes, that they will be unnecessary and selfish. I can only hope I’m able to.

I know that finding the resolve to be positive in the face of sadness and loss is the best revenge on life’s harsh realities. I don’t know if I can find that resolve in practice but I can try to.

I know that no-one can ever have new old friends.