Dear John,
When my phone rang yesterday afternoon, I knew before I even checked the identity of the caller it would be to tell me of your passing. A familiar, eerily calm voice delivered the news I had been both expecting and dreading. Hello, Nick. I have been expecting you.
The day after and I am numb. I was not quite in your innermost circle but close enough to feel your pain and to understand the suffering your family has been through. Their pain hasn’t gone away now you have slipped away but it will now be different.
You shared your ‘cancer chronicles’ on social media, until you were close to the end. You made us feel part of your struggle, gave us hope and strength, while still being the most clear-eyed person in the room. I was on the outside looking in, yet somehow I felt I was with you, almost holding your hand. Only you could make me feel like this. Always the smartest man in the room.
I met you through the trade union movement and through Bristol Rovers. While you never attained, nor sought, high office, neither would have been beyond you. While I was sectarian, highly political in the union, you remained independent, relying entirely on your wit, intelligence and the sheer force of your argument. That was your self-confidence, your laser-sharp brain cutting to the chase.
At Bristol Rovers, you were the same person. Independent minded, never afraid of making the tough calls, even if they weren’t always popular. No one was bigger or better than you. Power and wealth would never be enough to slow you down, never mind stop you. A force of nature, for sure.
You knew that you were not in a fight or a battle with cancer. You knew from the off that you were living with cancer and you knew how it might end. I am sure you had your demons as you saw your life begin to diminish and slow down. You knew how it would end, too. But when I think of you today, a word I think of is, above all, courage. In modern times, the word courage has been devalued by it misuse and by way of exaggeration. But not you, John. Not you. You faced down death as you faced down life.
There’s a hole in the world today. The family bereft, friends and acquaintances in mourning, tears being shed, memories being shared. I have thought of little else since the fateful call.
We are the lucky ones. We got to know you, John, and while we might not always have agreed with everything you said and did, the truth is you were, sometimes frustratingly, right. But as well as courage, there’s another word I will always associate with you: honesty.
Not only were you a stickler for the truth, you knew how to tell it without upsetting people. Now that’s a gift, too. And you told truth to power. There was, it seemed, no fear because of your innate decency and honesty. We talked a lot over the years, but more often than not I listened and learned.
I end this letter with yet another word. And that word is love. Your love shone like a beacon, even in the darkest of times. You spoke lovingly and proudly of your family. As with everything else you did in life, you were a leader. You were probably born to be a leader but I know you learned lessons in life along the way. It helps explain the clarity with which you approached the illness that eventually took you away from us. We all loved you.
Now we have the memories and your legacy. And what a legacy that is. Loved for sure, respected even by those who didn’t quite see things the way you did.
Farewell, old pal. Your star will shine. Always.
Signed sincerely,
Rick
