I loved my cousin Michael - not romantic love or love because he was my cousin, but just because ! Just because of what, you may ask. Just because of the way he was. He was one of those very rare people you are always glad to see -
even if you couldn't quite put your finger on why that was. One of those people who, however you might be feeling, always made you feel good.
Michael was, indeed, a very special person, he was always my favorite cousin although I
never did see a lot of him. More, perhaps, when we were younger but his family (his father is my mother's nephew) lived some distance from mine and as we grew up we went our separate ways and only met at family gatherings - usually of the hatched, matched
or despatched variety!
Michael did a lot with his life, he travelled all over the world, met lots of different people and did so much more with his time than I have done with mine. Why should that be so surprising, after all - people
are all different, some are naturally more adventurous than others. Michael was indeed different. You see, Michael was living under a death sentence. As are we all, you may say, but this was different as Michael was born with Cystic Fibrosis.
When he was very young his mother was told that he wouldn't survive past the age of sixteen. In the event he lived for over twice that - and filled every minute.
Perhaps it was that which made him such a special person, he
knew his time was more limited than most people's and he was not afraid to make the most of it. He met other people who had Cystic Fibrosis all over the world and lived a life that I was not even aware of - only finding out about it after his funeral
by looking through the photo albums that were passed around.
I went to see him during his last spell in hospital in London and, before actually going to the hospital, I spent a little time in his flat with his father, who had met me off
the coach and who was going to take me to see him. I looked around in dismay - on his shelves there were books about every kind of religion and philosophy you could imagine. Christianity was there as well and it was obviously the collection of
someone who had been searching for the truth long and hard but I was worried about whether he had actually found it and, if not, whether he would find it in time.
I wanted to talk to him in hospital but it was difficult with both his parents
there and, although I did mention the books, the only reply I got was not to worry about them - he even said that there were some pretty weird books there! It was strange, in the hospital, I really wanted to get close to him and give him a good
hug but felt so restrained - his parents were there for one thing and he was hanging with tubes for another - and, anyway, that was way before I became a "hugging" person !! We did have a little hug but I nearly pulled the tubes out doing that! It was
strange, though, that I really needed to get close to him but couldn't. I still don't really know if it was for his sake - or for mine.
I left London feeling as if I had missed something vital, feeling that I had come really
close to something that would change my life but that I hadn't quite made the right connection somehow. I wrote Michael a long letter when I got home, telling him how I felt about him and how worried I had been about the books I had seen and I told him
that I believed that Jesus was the only way. I don't know if he read it as I never got to talk to him again. My mother was keeping me in touch with the situation and, while on the telephone one day, she told me that Michael had spent two hours
talking to a priest who was a hospital visitor. Although I didn't know what they had talked about or what conclusions Michael had come to I had a very deep conviction that everything was all right now - and at the same time I had an equally deep conviction
that he was going to die very soon. I can remember vividly walking towards the end of our drive, after seeing to a horse down in the village, thinking "Michael's going to die now" And so he did, with a day or two he was gone.
The funeral was a revelation as the vicar made it quite clear that Michael was a committed Christian. I was so pleased but then began to wonder if I had made a complete fool of myself by writing that letter - but I decided that Michael would have
understood and at least he would have known that I cared enough to worry about him. In retrospect, perhaps it was good for him to know where I stood. Michael had given his testimony in the Hospital chapel and I was given a tape of it.
Unfortunately, it was a very bad copy so, although you can hear enough to know he had given his life to Christ, you can't hear it in great detail, which is a pity.
Although I never saw a great deal of Michael in the last years of his life
that didn't mean I loved him any the less - he was still, and will remain, my favorite cousin. During all the struggles of faith I have had in the last few years I have longed to be able to talk things over with him. I know I would have got
through it a lot easier if he had been around. Perhaps if I had been able to talk to him that day in the hospital it would really have helped me but it is no use thinking about what might have been. We miss so much, though, by hesitating, by being
afraid to look a fool - and then the moment is gone and the opportunity may never come again.
The things I learnt from Michael's life and death were valuable lessons and ones I hope I will continue to learn from. He made the most
of his life and was not afraid to live it to the full - I always regret that I didn't have the courage to travel more and see something of the world like he did. However, he never married or had a family because of the way he was - perhaps that is something
that I have which he would have liked. At the end he was not afraid to die - indeed, he was deemed a suitable candidate for a heart lung transplant ( which have quite a high success rate) but he turned it down, believing and accepting that it was his
time to go and that any transplant available should go to someone else.
For some time after his death I was very angry about that, I admit that quite freely. Especially when I saw articles in the paper about other people
being given a new lease of life after such an operation. I found myself getting very angry with Michael for not taking that chance and for depriving us of him ! I also got angry as they announced that they were very near finding a cure for cystic
fibrosis and I kept thinking " Why not in time for Michael?" but how could I go on thinking that when he obviously didn't? He was content that it was his time and that he had had a good life - and , because of his faith, believed he was going on
to a better one. The ones he left behind should think like that too - but it was very hard going at times.
As for the books in his flat, I have come to regard them in a different light. Because he knew he had a limited time
on this earth Michael spent a great deal of his time searching for the truth - and it means a great deal that in the end he turned to Jesus ! In a way that means more, or at least as much, to me as hearing about someone who has been instantly converted.
I think it is a great shame that people do not recognize, or perhaps refuse to admit to, the mortality of their own bodies until it is too late - none of us know when we will die. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise to know that your time is more limited
than most people's so that you can search for the truth while there is still time instead of leaving it till it is too late.
I had to leave this piece of writing for a while to rescue my son (stranded with car troubles in the middle of
the night yet again) and before I came back to it I was looking through some of the poems and other work that I had completed some time ago and I came across the following two pieces that I had written just after Michael's death:-
TILL
I SEE YOU AGAIN
Did you know?
That it would be the last time
Did you know?
I knew - that's why I came
I knew - but I couldn't say
Couldn't put it into words
Even if we had been alone
I don't
know if I would have
If I should have
So - I waited, and wrote it all down for you
And sent it - warts and all - with a kiss!
I hope you read it
And when I said goodbye
I couldn't hug you - not properly
I'm no good at hugging
(At least, I wasn't then)
My body wouldn't let me
Even when my heart wanted to
And, anyway, you looked so frail
And all those tubes !
It was difficult not to get tangled up
So - it
wasn't a proper goodbye
I hadn't said what I came to say
Or done what I came to do
But - all the same I'm glad
Glad I came to say goodbye
I knew
Don't ask me how - but I did
I knew it was your
time
Time to die - or time to move on?
Well - aren't they one and the same ?
I'd felt it somewhere deep inside for weeks before
That's why I had to come - before it was too late.
Too late for what? To tell you it all
Tell you how I feel about you
How much I care - how it really is with me
And to see that you knew
That you knew the truth
When they told me - about how you had been
About the visit and the talk
(Funny
how the right person was in the right place
- and at the right time!)
Then I knew it was time
Walking down the road in the dark
It just came into my mind
"Michael's going to die"
No pain - no grief, just fact
Just
knowing what was going to be
So that when the call came it wasn't even a shock
Oh, I don't say I haven't cried
But not for you - you don't need tears now
Now you're really free
Free from the pain of this world
Free
from a body that never worked as it should
No, I cried for your Mum and Dad
For all of us who will miss you so much
Never mind - it won't really be that long
Till I see you again
And next time I'll expect a proper hug
Next time - when we meet in Paradise
So it's not really goodbye - is it?
Not for ever!
DIFFERENT ROADS
We were led by life
Down different roads
Sometimes parallel - sometimes close
Sometimes in opposite directions
Crossing rarely - briefly
Yours leading, quite often, far away
Where I have always longed to go
But never had the courage
Mine leading to far
more ordinary places
Perhaps where you had always longed to go
But couldn't - because of how you were
I wish they'd met more often
That we'd walked on each other's roads
For just a little while
And now - now you have
trodden that road
The one where all roads meet at last
And one day I too will tread it
And at last we will be there
On the same road - going in the same direction
But then again, perhaps we always were!
I still miss Michael and sometimes cry - not for him, but because he's not here, not within reach. During all my struggles, when I have cause to think long and hard about death and beyond, I have read and heard about lots of instances
when people who have either actually died or who have had what is called a "near death experience" and who have either been seen or heard talking to someone close to them who has died before. It seems they were met by loved ones so I hope that,
when it is my time, God will send Michael for me. Most of all I truly hope that until then I can follow his example and make the most of whatever time I have been given and by not being afraid to live it as it should be lived - and at the end by not
being afraid to tread the path he has trodden before me. I don't think I will ever have his courage - all I can do, all any of us can do, is to remember that we don't have to do any of it alone.