Once more, as is tradition, this Christmas I shall be raising a glass to absent friends. Absent friends and family, to be precise. And every year, that glass has to get bigger due to the growing weight of numbers of those I wish to remember. My partner and I have between us lost eight people from our lives, including my beloved sister-in-law Jenifer Darbellay, in the Vancouver drive-killings and some of our best friends, including in my case a man, Nick Lane, lately of Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada, who I had known since 1968. It felt as if 2025 was like taking a trip down sniper’s alley. We carry on – what else can we do? – but the world is a smaller and emptier place without them.
Ordinarily, loss is overcome, gradually, by the acceptance that comes with the passing of time. The pain relents, but the loss hangs around, in some cases, forever. How could it not?
Sometimes, that loss is mitigated by circumstances. Some suffered unimaginable pain and distress as their illness stripped them of their ability to live life as they once did and in some cases their dignity. I make no apology for saying that some of deaths were a blessing, a deliverance. That blessing, that deliverance, the end of pain and suffering was far more powerful than my own personal sense of loss, which was probably quite selfish. Of course, I didn’t want to lose loved-ones – who does? – but I had to balance my own feelings with the grim reality.
I am normally a great believer in celebrating a life rather grieving the end of life but this year, it’s not always been easy to do that. We talk about people ‘dying before their time’, by which we mean dying before they reach a natural death through old age, in which case all eight deaths this year were premature. Everyone still had so much more to do in life and we must celebrate, if we can, their incredible achievements, the love they enjoyed and shared and how fortunate they were to be born at all. I make a point of remembering that the odds of being born at all are something like one in four hundred trillion. We are the lucky ones, although in this heartbreaking year, it doesn’t feel like it.
With each death, there was a closer relative and friend who probably felt it more deeply than I did. I have enough perspective to understand that. To that end, I have done my best to be there for those who have suffered the closest losses. I know that I am in a large majority of people who have done the same.
Time is a healer. The deaths that happened long ago, like that of my mum who died in 1999, I have long come to terms with. There will be no tears and, if I am being truthful, no feelings of anything. If I spend all my time, and a lot of emotion, looking back, I will not have enough to deal with the present or the future.
When the time comes to toast, it will be a simple ‘to absent family and friends’, after which I may take a moment to remember those we have lost.
I know that time is running out, not just for me, but for all of us. We all have dreams and bucket lists and sniper’s alley has reinforced my desire to do everything I want to do before my time comes, too, as it surely will.
With all my love to Nick, Jen, John, Pete, John, Roger, Chris and Jane. Oh, and Reg the cat, our last cat. This one’s for you.
