I was actually in a café on January first called Carpe Diem, which should have told me something, but the phrase didn’t really resonate until this weekend when I found out that a dear friend, with whom I’d lost touch, was taken from us far too early just before Christmas.
My then husband and I had been great friends with Paul and his wife, Mary, over many years and, when we split up, such was the nature of the couple that they treated each of us the same and welcomed both of us as we started our new lives.
However, as happens, we gradually drifted apart and the last time I saw Mary was a couple of years ago. Then my hard drive failed and I lost my contacts and the next thing I knew was that we hadn’t exchanged Christmas cards in over a year. Excuses, I know, but they seemed like valid reasons at the time.
I knew where they lived, of course, and passed the entrance to their road many times as I barrelled to or from the A3, time always my enemy. “I must stop and call in on Paul and Mary soon”, I thought, many times. But I never did, which means I never got the chance to say ‘goodbye’.
I will now have to make my farewells at the funeral, which will no doubt be packed, so much did Paul touch the lives of so many people. However, with his death being one of three at the end of this year, where I hadn’t been as good a friend as perhaps I should have been, one thing I hope I’ve learned is Carpe Diem – it might be their or my last.
And next time I’m in a church, which was where I’d been just before heading into Carpe Diem for lunch, I’ll add you to the people I think of when I light a candle, Paul. You will be missed.
RIP Paul Scheggia
