On Monday, Philip died. He had spent the last four weeks of his life in the hospice where my mum volunteers and where my dad sought respite.

Mum became fond of Philip and of his mother who never moved from his bedside for the duration of that month. My mum told me a little about Philip each week as she worked her duty. I knew that he had grown increasingly poorly – I knew that at the end, he couldn’t even manage a few teaspoons of rice pudding, I know that he was a much loved only child. I couldn’t imagine his mother’s pain and sadness in her lonely vigil. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Philip to know that he was dying at such a young age – that he was leaving the mum he loved. And I certainly never imagined that I knew Philip. It never dawned on me that we had attended secondary school together in the same year group, shared some of the same teachers, same peers, same experiences – until it did. Then Philip became even more than his poignant story, he became real and I remembered his face, his stance, his expression, his quietude and I felt humbled that I had learned about his almighty struggle to live and about the mother who fought his war valiantly by his side and how he stared death down, until the day he was called by God.

I know Philip has transitioned. I can only imagine his mother’s grief. I guess in a week or so, he will be buried. But buried or not his story lives on.  I won’t forget him, because in having this small, unexpected vicarious interaction with him, I’ve been reminded of how very blessed I am. Blessed to be alive – to be able to enjoy my family, my community, my work, travel, my hobbies. I’m blessed to have this moment to breathe, to sit, to laugh, to hope, to dream, to love. I am blessed to have been given another day to make a difference - for every day, every single second of each day counts for something and we should be diligent in ensuring it does count, because days do run out.

If Philip is a reminder of the importance of enjoying the present, no matter the ups and downs of it, then his strength to fight a killing disease and the support and love of his mother as he fought that fight, reminds me of the beauty and great potential of the human spirit. That as people, we can achieve so much when we support one another, when we rise up united, when we leave aside conflict, differences, separatism and make our lives into a unified action for service – in whatever shape that takes. Because at the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is love, and service is a wonderful expression of it.

And so, I bow my head in honor of you. P.G. I know that you will be comforting your mother, even as I type this, coming to her as an angel from heaven. I don’t know why your life was cut short, but I do know that by sharing your story you send an important message to the world about what really matters. Thank you, Philip. God bless you on your journey. I know it will be a beautiful one. P.G. RIP

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