Travelling in the family car to my stepfather's funeral, I got a text from a former work colleague. He informed that his sister, a close friend called Rachel, was in hospital fighting for her life.
The illness that had taken hold of her was a rare one that was complicated by a previously undiagnosed condition. It was all very sudden. My stepfather's funeral was on Monday. On Wednesday night, Rachel was dead. She was younger than me.
I first met Rachel when we were working together at IPC Magazines. As I took on increasingly senior positions, we worked together more closely. In the last seven years at that company, the environment became increasingly toxic. My friendship with Rachel was the thing that helped keep my sanity. She was funny, kind and smart, and a calming influence in any environment she was put in.
A proud South London girl, she could also swear like a trooper if anyone annoyed her. And she took great delight in uncovering a family history of renegades and circus performers.
She had a spiritual side. Her interest in crystals was something I often teased her about. But this and her commitment to learning more about shamanistic drumming was inspiring. There was something just right about her interest in nature and natural rhythms. It worked for her and she wasn't too bothered if it didn't work for you. She knew who she was and what interested her, and she was confident enough to proudly own those elements of her life.
When I left the company where we both worked, we kept in touch. We'd have regular trips to our favourite cafe and nearby pubs, share news and set the world to rights. Time with Rachel was always a joy, easy and treasured.
After I heard she was dead, I tried to compartmentalise the grief for a few days and lock it away. I thought it was because I was dealing with another recent loss. Then I realised I was in denial. Her brother put a post up on Facebook a few days later expressing his grief. That helped. It enabled me to start the acceptance process. This was good. I needed a kick start.
I loved Rachel. She was my mate, my confidante, my sounding board and my favourite hippy. She was a woman who ran with the wolves, embraced that olde world of natural wisdom and found herself through it. It will take a while to fully accept I won’t be meeting her for a Thai curry or for a pint any more.
Her loss is so cruel, brutal and random that it will take time. There’ll be moments where I’ll be really angry about it. And times I’ll be sucker punched by unexpected bouts of grief. But there will be moments I’ll remember how she made laugh and smile. Which is what I’ll hang onto.
I can’t imagine how her brother and his family, her partner and her mum feel. I would assume it’s what I’m feeling multiplied by a few thousand. I hope the wave of genuine love that her friends have expressed after learning about her loss provides some comfort for them at some point.
Because loved is something that she absolutely was.
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