In Absentia

In these sad days of social distancing, funerals are strange, distanced affairs, and I was thinking about how it must be not to see a friend who is ill but dying, and so I cast my mind back to my friend Terry Hampton, once Vicar of St Aubin, and then Rector of Grouville. After he left Grouville, he suffered a major cardiac event, more than just a heart attack, he was taken by plane to England, and was thereafter at the Cheshire Home. 

Of course he was vulnerable to infection, and it always seemed to me that whenever I had time to go and visit, I always had a cough or cold, some infection mild to me, but which could have been fatal to him. Thinking of that and Covid-19 of course rings all sorts of bells. I did manage to get there on occasion, but he was invariable asleep and couldn't be woken. 

It is to his memory, and also to my god-daughter, his daughter, that I dedicate this poem. I remember so many happy times with him and his family, and he was always so full of life, so encouraging and engaged with everyone. I think most people who knew him will agree he was one of those people for whom the expression... after he came along, they broke the mold.. fitted the bill perfectly. 

In Absentia

How I miss you, my dear friend,
And how lonely was your end;
I could not visit, lest I made you ill,
And you caught from me a fatal chill;
Mourning in absentia, such a cost,
Time gone, and time forever lost;
So many things to say, still to talk:
Then you set off on a lonely walk,
And came a parting of the ways,
But I still recall those many days,
And will join you, when I am able,
To a feast of freedom at the Table

How I miss you, my dear friend,
And how lonely was your end;
I still remember how we met:
You and your family, strangers yet,
But friendship forged, to respond,
In one evening, a special bond,
That still remains beyond the grave;
I remember walking down the nave,
To share in the one cup and bread;
Of such a tapestry, thread by thread,
Are lives bound together into one:
Hearing the calling of the Son

How I miss you, my dear friend,
And how lonely was your end;
Evenings of music, song and prayer,
Such precious memories, to share,
Time alive: never lost, all belong:
Your wife on the piano, sacred song,
You with cello, we singing praise,
Such sweetness were the days;
And in the pulpit, inspiring word,
As if Barnabas himself were heard,
Son of encouragement, truly with you:
The Word making all things new