Saying goodbye is never easy. And not being given a chance to do so is even harder. Emeline and I lost a good friend this week, suddenly, unexpectedly, like a hole in the world opening up, swallowing a person, and clamping firmly closed again. Paul shared an office with Emeline and he and his girlfriend -- two English doctors, working here in Dunedin -- supported us throughout E's pregnancy in a quiet, caring and decent way.
We'd had dinner and drinks with them one night six-months or so ago. We chatted at work functions. Later we went to a barbecue at their house, perched on the cliffs above St Clair beach. Paul and I stood on a little patch of grass behind the house and watched big slow waves pounding the coast. And we'd see Paul and Leanne in the crowds at every film festival at the Regent Theatre downtown -- Paul's curly hair was easily visible from half a theatre away. I told Paul once that I didn't know what I'd do if Max had curly hair like he did.
Paul was my surrogate sometimes, denying access to his and Emeline's office to anyone with a cold or a cough; or telling Emeline to leave the office and go somewhere else when workmen were drilling above it, or when the smell of fresh paint in the corridors was too strong.
Max was born just after midnight 10-days ago, on the Saturday before Christmas, and he came home the following Monday. As we carried him across the road to our car, we bumped into Paul. He was our first friend to meet Max. Hugs and handshakes. And Paul was moved and expansive, visibly touched to be seeing the little man who had steadily inflated Emeline's belly until she was almost perfectly round.
And then yesterday, on Sunday, just 5-days later, we switch on the TV and see Paul's photo on the news: Died in a jet boat accident in Wanaka on Boxing Day. It's his departmental work photo, which I see every day: earnest look on his young face, blue jacket that looks like it was obtained quickly for the photo, and a headful of only slightly tamed curly brown hair.
Gone. Here for a while, and then gone. He was 29-years-old -- a young and energetic doctor, far from home. We wish now that we'd spent more time with him, but we seemed to have plenty of time: émigrés far from home in a strange city will always have something to talk about. The world was a better place for Paul having been in it; but I think it would have been better still if he had been given a chance to be in it a little longer. Not so long ago I wrote that our son Max had gone from being an idea to a person overnight. Now our friend Paul has gone from being a person to an idea. He was a wonderful, decent, intelligent, careful, enthusiastic and funny person. The idea of him is just as wonderful and rich and complicated. And that hasn't gone anywhere.
We'll miss you Paul, but we're so glad to have the idea of you.
We'd had dinner and drinks with them one night six-months or so ago. We chatted at work functions. Later we went to a barbecue at their house, perched on the cliffs above St Clair beach. Paul and I stood on a little patch of grass behind the house and watched big slow waves pounding the coast. And we'd see Paul and Leanne in the crowds at every film festival at the Regent Theatre downtown -- Paul's curly hair was easily visible from half a theatre away. I told Paul once that I didn't know what I'd do if Max had curly hair like he did.
Paul was my surrogate sometimes, denying access to his and Emeline's office to anyone with a cold or a cough; or telling Emeline to leave the office and go somewhere else when workmen were drilling above it, or when the smell of fresh paint in the corridors was too strong.
Max was born just after midnight 10-days ago, on the Saturday before Christmas, and he came home the following Monday. As we carried him across the road to our car, we bumped into Paul. He was our first friend to meet Max. Hugs and handshakes. And Paul was moved and expansive, visibly touched to be seeing the little man who had steadily inflated Emeline's belly until she was almost perfectly round.
And then yesterday, on Sunday, just 5-days later, we switch on the TV and see Paul's photo on the news: Died in a jet boat accident in Wanaka on Boxing Day. It's his departmental work photo, which I see every day: earnest look on his young face, blue jacket that looks like it was obtained quickly for the photo, and a headful of only slightly tamed curly brown hair.
Gone. Here for a while, and then gone. He was 29-years-old -- a young and energetic doctor, far from home. We wish now that we'd spent more time with him, but we seemed to have plenty of time: émigrés far from home in a strange city will always have something to talk about. The world was a better place for Paul having been in it; but I think it would have been better still if he had been given a chance to be in it a little longer. Not so long ago I wrote that our son Max had gone from being an idea to a person overnight. Now our friend Paul has gone from being a person to an idea. He was a wonderful, decent, intelligent, careful, enthusiastic and funny person. The idea of him is just as wonderful and rich and complicated. And that hasn't gone anywhere.
We'll miss you Paul, but we're so glad to have the idea of you.
3 comments:
Fond memories of Paul: Poor Masters student gets low grade computer to work on thesis ... handwritten name plate on the door ... stinky cheese smelling tea cups ... loved sweets (licorice, chocolate, tea time treats) ... always on the phone to friends and family ... being blamed for calling long distance from the office phone (haha) ... Skyping family ... on the phone making birthday/special plans for Leanne ... always sweet words about Leanne ... hopeful ... talked politics with me (or at least listened to me on my soapbox) ... cared for his brother from afar ... culture work sucks ... photographing him with his cultures (what a geek) ... he was starting to actually like research, can you believe it? ... wanting to help others always ... we all hate the construction noise ... we all hate the door that doesn't close properly ... always having to make excuses for me and Zsu to Istvan (haha) ... that head of big curly hair ... always considerate of me and Max in utero ... you will be missed, Paul.
Very sorry about your loss, guys. Sounds like Paul was a wonderful guy... And glad you have made friends like him over there. Sounds like he was a blessing...
I'm really sorry for your loss, guys. So sad. Wish I could give you a hug or three.
xoxo.
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