My friend died.

We visited on the Friday after our trip to Japan to catch up with him and the wife he loves so much and cares for and as we were leaving he jumped up out of his chair and said “See you next week” as he often did.

The call arrived Sunday afternoon. He had died suddenly, waking unwell that morning with a doctor called just too late, if there ever was a chance to save him from the aneurism.

And I have never cried so much or felt such loss, such absence.

He was someone who made my life brighter and lighter and now he’s gone. I have just begun to understand my loss.

And to all of those well-meaning people who tell me how good I have been for visiting an old man, as if our friendship were an act of charity, your suggestion makes me incandescent with rage.

My grief is for my loss, mine.