One of the Good Guys

The loss of some people seems to hit harder than others. Last Thursday, the first day we had all that snow, was the funeral of my neighbour - let's call him Jack.

Jack was a retired farmer who bred and trained sheepdogs. He carved walking sticks from hedgerow cuttings. He loved to sing. He was always cheerful, steadfast, rosy-cheeked, always had a twinkle in his eye that spoke of his love for life. As one of my other neighbours said, 'He was one of those people you never heard a bad word about'.

A couple of weeks ago, he lost a brief, brutal battle with cancer, and last Thursday amidst the snow, he was buried.

I didn't really know him very well, we were neighbours, not really friends. We socialised a little, but we never sat together sharing confidences. Yet I find myself thinking about him, mourning his loss. I hear a tractor coming up the lane and look to see if it's Jack so I can wave, and then I remember. I feel for his family and wish there was something I could do to comfort them.

The world seems emptier tonight knowing Jack is no longer in it. He really was one of the good guys and I miss him.