in memory

It's been a long time since lower sec, so the memories, like old photographs, are faded, worn, and hard to find.

All I remember is that he was a kind and funny man, someone whom I was always happy to see, whom I liked and respected. One of my favourite teachers, and someone I saw as a friend.

I didn't see him much after secondary school. It was partly my fault, and partly because it was hard to find him when I did go back.

The last time I met him, I think, was in the summer after the first year of uni. By that time I'd heard that he had been afflicted with cancer, and so I was pleasantly surprised to see him looking rather healthy, if slightly thinner and with less hair. I left him my number, but I was in OBS when he called.

He wasn't there when I went back last summer. He was ill. I got his number, but I didn't call him. I was too lazy, and too arrogant in my presumption that there would always be enough time.

I was wrong: there wasn't.

Now, all that remains is some dusty memories. And this final lesson he taught me.

I hope I do not forget it.