Roy is about as loyally British as it gets, but I met him while working on his farm in the Irish countryside, where he’s lived with his wife for 15 years. We became very good friends.
“My son was my best friend. It’s been four years since he died. I was devastated. I know that’s why I got sick [heart and liver failure].
Memories are different when the person is gone. You can remember something fondly, but you can no longer dial their number and know that they will answer. When the phone rings after supper, I still think that I’m going to hear his voice on the line, telling me some dirty joke he heard that day. When they’re gone, the memory not only reminds you of the good times, it reminds you that they will never happen again. That they’re gone.”