This morning I attended the funeral of someone I only got to know after she had been diagnosed with cancer. That is definitely my loss, as the tributes this morning bore testimony - physically beautiful, seriously intelligent, utterly pastoral: these things I had glimsped only briefly.
We first met in November 2014, and what struck me was that we were both wearing duffle coats; mine red, hers green. I told her the story of my red duffle coat, that in the early weeks following my diagnosis, utterly terrified and needing to seize some control, I had bought it, a defiant act because red coats are not "sensible" or "practical" but instead '"frivolous" and "fun". She understood and, if memory serves, her green duffle coat held similar, if not quite the same, significance.
It was always coffee AND cake when we met. No matter what else was going on, this little celebration of life was pretty much a ritual. And she would always insist on paying, assuring me that the C of S paid better than Baptist churches... I learned not to argue, but instead to enjoy good conversation and good company.
Of course I can't tell you what we talked about - that goes with me to my grave - but there was deep sharing, brutal honesty, the sacredness of a safe space in the midst of all life threw at each of us.
It was a wonderful service this morning, a packed church, a heartfelt tribute, words and prayers of hope - all you would wish a funeral to be.
So, I am sat at my laptop and have just drunk tea and eaten cake, a lot of it, in honour of M. May she rest in peace and rise in glory. I am honoured to have called her "friend".
