Wes is my eldest son. In the early hours of 26 January 2014, he died in a road accident. Based on witness and police accounts, Wes had lost conciousness instantly. He couldn't be revived and passed away at the scene.
In a second, life became meaningless. Overwhelming grief, horror and pain kept in check only by things we had to do. There were people we had to tell; those for whom a phone call would just be too unbearable. Wes's brother, his mother and I did the best we could before collapsing in a heap at a good friends' house.
As the morning wore on, there were others to tell. Each phone call made it worse. Why, I kept asking myself, why, why? Wes was 2 weeks away from his 23rd birthday. He was a happy, optimistic, positive, creative, healthy young man with a ready smile. He had everything to live for.
Then it dawned on me slowly. It's not why, it's what. The hundreds of messages, phone calls and visits made by people, telling us what Wes meant to them. Clearly, he left a positive impression on everyone's life. Wes did everything he had planned to do; what he wanted to achieve, he had in his efficient, pleasing way. He was a talented musician, playing in a couple of bands, an artist, writer and cricketer. Wes had a big heart. He always put others first.
Earlier in January, on a whim, I arranged to meet Wes for dinner at the pub where he worked as assistant manager. We had a lovely time, full of laughter and conversation. I texted him to say how much I enjoyed our time together. He sent this reply:
"It was great to see you too. Glad it was quiet enough to have a chat! Sorry I've taken awhile to get back to you...good luck with your eye appointment x"
I replied:
"Likewise, my lofty friend. Hope you got the bike home. Have been spreading the word. Put some pics of your bro at the gig on FB xx"
God bless you, my wonderful son. I love you more than words can describe. Take care until we meet again. Farewell, my lofty friend.