BenPaddon.co.uk

The Universe has a way of throwing some interesting stuff around, and it’s up to us to catch it - whether we like it or not. Sometimes what lands in our arms is something wonderful and amazing, and we just want to hold on to it and squeeze it and never let it go. Other times, it’ll throw something our way that is unwanted, inconvenient, and… basically not good. Life threw my Dad and his circle of friends a wonderful gift - the friendship of a simply amazing person, Karen. Then, in 2004, it threw Karen something rather unpleasant - Breast Cancer. And one week ago, it threw pretty much everyone concerned a rather nasty curveball - Karen passed away in the morning of September 30th.

I’ve avoided talking about it because, if I’m being honest, I didn’t feel it was my place to do so. I knew Karen, I’d met her several times, but I can’t say I ever really knew her as well as my Dad and my Stepmom, and their friends. I reckon I’ve probably spent little over 24 accumulative hours in her presence, but I would count her as one of my friends, and I hope she counted me as one of hers.  Nevertheless, I didn’t feel right talking about it, even though her death has left me feeling numb this past week. It really hit me in a way I hadn’t expected.

I first met Karen in 2005, way back when Amy and I came out to visit Dad and Linda. She came over, all smiles, emanating positivity, to talk to Dad and Linda, and it was an absolute pleasure to meet her. She had this spirit, this wonderful vibrant energy, and after talking I discovered we held a lot of similar interests - fantasy, scifi, City of Heroes, amongst other things. She visited again during our stay and it was a pleasure to see her.

When I saw her for the first time since immigrating, she looked very different, physically. Her head had been shaved, and she seemed somehow smaller. But that indomitable vibrancy was still there. She still smiled, still laughed, still kept optimistic and happy. It was an extraordinary thing to see - even though her cancer had worsened, she hadn’t lost any of her positivity and personality. It was remarkable. It was inspiring.

When we found out on Sunday morning that she had passed away, I spent most of the day sort of mentally inactive. I sat and browsed the internet. I think I made an effort to play some videogames but couldn’t focus. My mind had absconded, and made only brief returns during the week. I had told Dad, who had been hit pretty hard with the news although I think he held himself together remarkably well, that if he needed time off during the week I would be happy to take time off as well, to be with him and to spare him the trouble of having to drive in to work and collect me later in the day. The actual truth of the matter is that I needed some mental down-time.

I spent most of my time at work just sitting at my desk, not really concentrating. I felt a remarkable sense of loss, and I felt guilty for feeling that loss. I had, after all, not really spent much time with her. I didn’t know her as well as everyone else had. What right did I have to feel any sense of loss for her death? How selfish am I, I asked myself? I tried to ignore these feelings - the loss and the guilt - and tried to focus on what was important. Helping Linda and my Dad in any way I could. Propping them up.

It was Karen’s funeral today, and I very nearly didn’t go. But I realised, late on Saturday night, that I wanted to be there. So I went. I sat and I listened to people speak about how well they knew Karen. I listened to people share their memories. I watched as photos of Karen’s life displayed one after the other, each one showing that same smile, and very occasionally showing some very big hair. The slideshow finished, the service wrapped up, and we stood to leave.

And then it hit me. Wham.

Before that moment, my thoughts were 90% “These people loved Karen. They’re really going to miss her,” and 10% “This bench is remarkably uncomfortable.” But the moment the service was over, I felt like I had been hit by a train. This remarkable individual, this person who touched so many peoples’ lives, this friend, is gone. And for the first time, I began to think about what impact that would have not just on the people who really knew her, but on me.

I’ve never coped well with death. I can’t wrap my head around it. I deal with it in a very juvenile manner - it simply doesn’t factor in to the way the world works, so far as I’m concerned. That someone can simply cease to be, never making another contribution to our world? That doesn’t seem right, does it? I can’t wrap my head around that concept. I can’t fathom a world where people can suddenly blip! out of existence; here one minute and gone the next. That doesn’t work for me. I can’t process it. Simply trying to gives me a short circuit. I’m at a loss. I’m adrift. Funeral services help me to accept that loss, but I still can’t get to grips with the concept of death.

I feel very selfish right now, having spent a half hour typing up how I feel about this. I suppose I needed to vent.

Goodbye, Karen. I didn’t know you as well as I would have liked to, but I will never forget you.