Key points

• When a good friend dies there is much to ponder

• Time spent is time well spent

• Better to be real and speak honestly than hide behind platitudes

• Use your time wisely

• The poem Small Rooms published just weeks before he died.

Today’s post is in memory of my good friend Ron who passed away late last week from a long-term battle with melanoma. Poor Ron was a true Stoic til the end. Not the stiff upper lip variety, no. He was someone who loved Stoic philosophy and sought to live it consistently.

But more than that, Ron was just a damn good guy. He loved his friends and family, he was a good mate who actually got in touch from time to time (we lived in different cities for a while), and he never spoke a negative word about anyone.

He finally landed what he called the job of his dreams just before being diagnosed with a resurgence of melanoma. And he loved that job and the people he worked with. But, sadly, he wasn’t there that long before he had to stop and focus on his treatment.

The empty seat speaks

Losing such a good friend is a loss. But it’s also not because life continues with the fond memories you’ve created together. Going to our favourite cafe without Ron there anymore means I can recall our wonderful conversations, remember cool things he said (and there were many), and strengthen the memories again.

But, there are insights that come from walking closely with a friend who is dying, and once they’ve died as well.

Here are some thoughts:

Life makes no promises

You get what you get whether that’s due to health, genes, or accident. Frantically hoping for a long life can be fruitless. It’s far better to spend your time and energy enjoying the one you actually have. ‘A bird in the hand’ and all.

Use your time wisely

Spending time with a good mate who has a terminal diagnosis is more important (to them and yourself) than being too busy, having to go to all those meetings, mowing the lawns, or anything else you can think of that takes up daily life. “I was too busy to spend time with them” is not a good excuse. It fosters regret. So sacrifice the latter for the former. You’ll be glad you did.

Do things they like

When someone is dying, it is far better for all if you speak the truth and be real. Without being tactless or insensitive, Ron and I talked about how he felt, death, dying, fairness, and what he really wanted. It turned out that time and a cup of green tea, plus walking on the beach, was what mattered most to him. So that’s what we did.

Say it like it is, it’s easier to grieve properly

I know many people use terms like “they’ve passed on”, or “they’ve gone to heaven and are looking down on us,” and so on. However, in a way that does not help you grieve the loss properly. They’ve gone. They died. That’s it. So, say it like it is. Accept it. It hurts. You won’t be able to talk to them anymore. You miss them. There’s a hole in your life now. But that’s the way it is for us humans. We love and we grieve. So give yourself a break, let it roll, and feel the pain which will lessen in intensity over time. Trying to imagine them floating around watching you for years to come isn’t helpful. And it’s not real.

Have a few things you just love doing, and consciously make time in your life to do them

You see, Ron loved a handful of things. 1. Music. He was always listening to new music and finding artists he enjoyed. And he’d share them with all and sundry. 2. Woodwork. Ron made beautiful, artistic products out of lovely wood. And he gave them to people as gifts. We’ll always treasure the unique cake stand he made Tess that has a little murex shell embedded in a slice of resin. Very Ron. 3. Writing. Ron was a professional journalist and ended up writing several books in his latter years. His last book was published just three weeks ago and it was on the shells of the Bay of Plenty where we live.

Thank you, Ron. I have one of your poetry books right here with me. I’ll quote one here:

“Give me big rooms”

SMALL ROOMS from The Art of Peaceful Repair by Ron Murray (c) 2024

Beware of small rooms
and people who think it’s OK
to park you there.

They can feel like
a familiar jacket
but watch out for the buckles.

As you trade spaces
it may seem just a place
to sleep and sit
a backup bothole
with all to savour
elsewhere
till there is no elsewhere
you’re aware of
and people bring you things
and take them
and the colourless walls loom
slipping glacially closer and
boxing you in.

No, give me big rooms
that don’t bow me
with room to dance
acres of air

and in the end
a ceiling of stars
and no walls at all
just the ability to touch all corners

like the wind.

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