I got an email a night or two ago from a woman who informed me that her father had died. He was Steve. Steve and his family, then two young teenagers and a ten year old boy, were in the Palmerston North Church when I was minister there in the late 1970s. I remember we used to go around to the church hall on Friday nights so the kids could go ballistic. Steve was 20+ years older than I, but we used to play table tennis together. I think I would win more often, but he loved the game and we were fairly evenly matched. He worked for a government department and the family moved to the Wellington area.
When ever we caught up on Steve, usually at church conferences, he would say, "Do you think you and I could sneak off, find a table tennis table and have a game?" I called on him in February in Lower Hutt, he seemed in good health. His wife had died about a year before and I recall in the conversation he said, "Do you mind if we talk about Edna. I'll tell you the story." And he told us of the last months of her life. I really appreciated his honesty, his openness and the warmth with which we shared together. It was one of those sacred conversations.
He had asked his daughter last week to email us and tell us that he was weak and in hospital. Now she informed us he had gone. He suggested as much when we last saw him. As we said goodbye he said that this could be the last time we saw each other. He was OK with the fact that he was getting older and more frail.
I guess it's a sign that I'm getting old, another of my friends has gone the way we all must go. He was still doing a heap of volunteer work for a caring agency, even though he was in his mid-eighties. What a way to go.
"Goodbye friend, thanks for enriching my life with your relaxed warmth, humour and friendship."
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