Some 20 years ago I worked for a small company that once in a while sent me on business trips to the UK. I travelled to London, Manchester and other places, business class, just flying in for the day to give presentations about the company. I usually travelled with the company director.
Travelling back from Manchester one day, this time on my own, I ended up in a queue at the airport check-in. I got talking to a man standing right behind me, not sure why, I wasn't one to talk to strangers, not sure what we talked about, but we both enjoyed the conversation. I went into the business class lounge for a drink, but quickly got bored, so I went out again to look for the man I met in the queue. I'd only just left the lounge when I met him again, on his way in. He talked his way into the lounge to find me, saying I was a friend of his. We sat down and talked more, and we found out we had a lot in common. The Pre-Raphaelites, Wallace and Gromit, English language and literature, our sense of humour. But basically we just connected.
He was on his way to a new life, working in Malaysia, and he was nervous. He was nervous about flying, about the changes in his life. I was having some problems at the time too.
As we went in for the flight I found out he also managed to get the seat next to me. He got me to hold his hand during the flight because he was so nervous. Looking back I'm still not sure if he really was scared, or if this was just a pretext. It's not that important, knowing him both could be true. We talked and talked, and felt completely at ease with each other. We talked more at Schiphol Airport until we had to say goodbye because he had to catch his connecting flight. We kissed goodbye and he went. Later he told me his flight got severely delayed and he spent several more hours by himself at the airport.
We had exchanged contact details, and that meant I knew all about him immediately because he wrote his address on the back of his CV. Over the next few months we talked on the phone a lot, we wrote long letters, he sent me flowers. He worked hard in Malaysia, I sorted out my problems He got his mum to send me a couple of books on the Pre-Raphaelites, his Wallace and Gromit t-shirt covered in cat hairs, and a box-set of Rush CDs. He sent me pictures of life out there. I still have all the letters and the pictures. We helped each other through some tough times.
Both our lives changed over the years. I moved to Amsterdam to be with the man I loved, I got a job there. He worked hard and played hard out there, eventually moving to Thailand to be a teacher. He always was a very committed teacher, believing in the students and the value of a good education, but railing against the unfairness of the Thai system.
He came to see me in Amsterdam once. When I went to pick him up we just got talking again, and we were so absorbed in the conversation it took me some time to realize we'd taken a tram in the wrong direction an we were travelling away from my house. He arrived in winter when it was cold and one of the first things we did was buy a winter jacket. It was brown, checkered, and it was in my suitcase of winter clothes for many years, just in case he decided to visit again.
Sometimes we lost touch for a while, I was sometimes not quite sure where he was or how he was. Then the internet, email, chat, facebook, suddenly enabled us to communicate much more easily. We could chat, talk and see each other. The most important thing was, however, that the real connection was never lost. Even if we didn't speak for a long time, once we did it was all okay. He often helped me when I needed the help, not by giving the obvious answers but by asking the difficult questions. Sometimes we didn't agree, but we never really quarreled. He always supported me, no matter what, sometimes not saying what he was so obviously thinking. He could make me smile at the toughest times, and his unending faith in me strengthened me when I had no faith in myself. Even when I was in a mess he would tell me he never worried about me because he knew I would be fine.
He also told me not to worry about him, but I sometimes did. When I heard the diagnosis so many years ago now. When we talked about his relationship, his job, all the health scares over the years. There was never that much I could do apart from talk and listen, but that was enough.
When I came over to Manchester to see him a few years ago, I got to see another side of him. Surrounded by family he loved and who loved him, in the place where he grew up. I got to know him a little better again. We visited the Manchester Art Gallery together, those wonderful Pre-Raphaelites. We only had a couple of days, and it was quite overwhelming for both of us. He told me he wasn't happy about leaving all that behind again, and going back to Thailand was hard.
When I told him I wanted to come and see him in Manchester he was speechless fo a moment as if he couldn't believe I would do that for him, or for the chance to see him. But he also told me he'd been looking at flights to Amsterdam to come and see me. That was important to me, it confirmed to me that we both held the friendship dear.
Both he and I have done some pretty stupid things over the years, but we never judged each other. We both have pretty strong opinions but there has always been a great deal of genuine respect for the other as a person, a great acceptance and affection.
When he told me he was ill last year I was very sad to know he would be gone soon. When I asked him if there was anything I could do he asked for liquorice. I went out form work, bought three bags, and sent them off by express post. The postage was 12 times the value of the parcel but I had to do something.
He posted a picture on Facebook about ending up with people that make you feel all alone and that made me very sad. I am just so happy that he came home, that he wasn't alone at the end but surrounded by family and friends, and that he was well taken care off. I am also very happy I got to see him again, so we could say goodbye. Those two days at the hospital we talked again. Or, to be honest, he mainly talked and I listened. I think there was a lot he needed to sort out in his head, and talking helped. We sat in his room, or went outside so he could smoke. He hated not being able to eat and taste his food, but he encouraged me to eat and not to mind him.
I will miss him, knowing that on another continent someone has such faith in you and is always able to make you smile. Then again, wherever he may be now, I don't think that will stop somehow.
