Some people come into our lives and quickly go, while others stay and leave footprints in our hearts and we are never the same
Today was meant to be a happy post. The second part of Paying it Forward. I was meant to feel all elated, having spread unexpected happiness and joy. How very un-British. It was meant to be awesome.
A friend is dying.
I ugly cried into Teflon Man’s jumper. I then spent the morning trying not to cry at my friend, instead trying to be terribly British and stiff-upper-lipped, and strong for him as he sat in his chair, a yellow shadow of his usual self. All I wanted to do was puddle into a pool of tears. I’m rubbish at being British. But he was being so pragmatic and accepting that it would have been self-indulgent to sob about all that’s now not to be. So we cracked lame jokes that fooled no one. But there are no words.
His body is broken and my heart is in pieces.
He’s already using the past tense.
The Pay It Forward biscuits can wait until next week. Today is for my friend, whose footsteps will forever foxtrot in my heart.