I haven’t posted (or done much of anything) for a while because a recent loss had thrown me off my game.
Saturday 20th August, a close friend of mine, Dale ‘Fruity’ Smith, died due to a heart-related problem (I’m still unclear as to the exact nature of the problem) at approximately 3.30 that afternoon. He was 36 years old.
It was a terrible shock to myself, his mother, his friends and especially his partner Gail and her family.
I spent the week trying to help her out when I was able and was given the task of saying something about him at the funeral, which was yesterday afternoon.
I’m putting it up here as a permanent record of what was said, and for those who wanted to be there but couldn’t make it.
When I was asked to say something for today, I spent a long time thinking about what would be appropriate. I tried to think of a bible verse. One that was either deeply heartfelt and moving or a verse that meant something to Dale. The problem with that is that he wasn’t a particularly religious man, which left me with a problem. As a result, I found myself in the book of Leviticus, Chapter 13, verse 47 to 49, for those who are really interested, which deals with the Law Concerning Mildew. Now this has nothing at all to do with Dale and is about as obscure a reference as you can get. But you can guarantee that if he was sitting in the front row, he would roar with laughter.
That’s how I remember Dale.
Dale and I met at university, where we both spectacularly failed to get our degrees, which I know is something he did regret. But out of that time at university, he made lifelong friendships and because of that, he knew his time there wasn’t wasted. Although we quite often were!
The one thing that had always struck me about Dale was his way with people. He could make people feel at ease without really trying. People always made a beeline for him because they knew that he’d value their presence, and that he would make them feel like the centre of the universe if only for a short time. He was kind and he was generous. I have many stories that I could tell about Dale and perhaps it’s a bit worrying that so few of them are appropriate. But then, we all have stories like that of Dale.
He could be outrageous and controversial, but never hurtful or offensive. He was passionate. Especially about Gail. There was one Sunday evening recently, when I received a panicky phone call from him. That day, Gail had had to go down south for a couple of days for work, which meant Dale would be left to his own devices for a few days. Now, myself and perhaps any other man, would go “Brilliant. I’m going to sit about in my pants, drink beer and enjoy freedom for a couple of days.” But not Dale. We sat in the pub that evening and all he could talk about was Gail and how much he missed her. And that’s one of my most enduring memories of him.
It’s things like that that set him apart from anyone else I know.
If left unattended, I can go on at some length about what we got up to, how much fun we had and how much his friendship meant to me. Instead, I’ll say this:
He was my friend. And I miss him.
