The Last Time I Saw My Best Friend

It is an early morning, mid August day in the year 2001. Today, we will be leaving for London and tomorrow flying back to the U.S.A. on an early morning flight. As we dressed and closed our bags in preparation for our departure, every moment that passed
seemed to grow more poignant.

We descended the stairs of our friend’s home and entered the dining room. There were John and my best friend Ella. She was removing the tea cozy and pouring our morning tea. She had wanted to make breakfast as usual but we had feigned the necessity to be on our way. My eyes took in the room as we drank our tea; the lovely mullioned windows, the familiar bone china cups and saucers, the sideboard with Ella’s lovely arrangement of flowers, the gas fireplace with the well chosen paintings over it, the packed book shelf each object seemed precious in its own special way. We all sipped our tea; it seemed to be a ceremony.

For a few short moments Ella and I walked through the kitchen and out into her garden. The garden that she tended with so much love was a testimony of her faithfulness. We spoke quietly murmuring over this blossom or that. She pressed a blossom into my hand.
We walked back into the house where we hugged and kissed and said our goodbyes.

As we walked out the front door my eyes turned to view the distant Pennines. Then the baggage stowed in the car, Robin driving and Julie next to him in the front seat, I was settled in the back seat and we drove away. There were Ella and John their arms entwined waving from the doorway of 119 James St. The instant it took for us to pass the doorway is forever locked in my heart and memory.

Twelve months later in August 2002, my best friend Ella died of the pernicious anemia she had fought so valiantly for eight years.