Today is my mother's birthday. She spent part of it attending the funeral of a neighbour's son, found dead in the yard of his home just before Christmas. He was a kind, good-hearted soul whose life was wrecked by a terrible accident and drink.
For me, he was the first man outside my family who ever kissed me. I remember it well: I was just turned 11 and it was his 21st birthday. I was sent round to his house with a birthday card from our family. He met me at the door, opened the card and bent over to kiss me ever so gently right on the lips. Then stood and watched me as I ran, skipped down the yard (that's a paved area at the back of the house in England, not a garden). He wouldn't know it and I never told him but that kiss sent a tingle all the way down through my knees into my toes. I didn't know what had happened but I just knew I felt great!
A first kiss, on a birthday, right there in that yard where he died.
Be free now and at peace, Phil.
1 comment:
This gave me goosebumps. How sad for Phil. RIP. Coincidentally, yesterday I attended a memorial service for a colleague who recently died on the job. He had served the corporation for 37 years, was my own age, and had been considering early retirement as am I. Lack of immediate medical support in this difficult environment probably contributed to his death. It has scared everyone here - bringing home how we are all vulnerable to a sudden accident, etc., much like the one that took Phil's life in a much more civilised land. Time to get out of here, I think. "Congo"
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