Jeremy

Dear all, 

Living with feet planted securely in two countries is nothing if not life affirming.  We have good friends in both countries and we do not take this blessing for granted.

Last summer J and I left the kids with a sitter and escaped to the seaside.  We joined three other couples in Woolacombe, North Devon, to celebrate the birthday of a friend.  It was a spectacular few days filled with sand and sun British style. 

During WW2, Woolacombe was the English army’s base during the training for D-Day.  The cliffs surrounding the beach look amazingly like those in Normandy, France.  We had a post card perfect beach hut, white with a brightly painted door, where we gathered during the day and laughed until our faces hurt and we were properly sunburned.

In the evenings, against a glorious backdrop of the setting sun over the sparkling sea, we got together to celebrate not only the birthday, but also the warm weather.   One night, at 2:00 a.m. after quite possibly too much fun, J and I dragged ourselves up the impossibly steep hill, legs burning, to our Bed and Breakfast only to discover we were locked out.

There we stood, making lots of noise, ringing the doorbell, wondering what to do.  Like a couple of dim-witted criminals, we planned a break in. 

We were not dressed appropriately for criminal activity.

I hiked up my dress for serious range of motion. While balancing in the manner of Dr. Seuss atop two stacked outdoor stools, on the edge of a deep hill, J tried hoisting me into the air towards our open window.  Well, that was the plan, anyway.  As you might imagine, this wasn’t easy and, what with the alcohol, laughter and more than a few lewd comments from J, my cat-like reflexes were not as sharp as usual. 

It took a few tries for me to grab the windowsill with my hands.  I then swung my legs up and secured my toes.  J was a rock of encouragement during this critical phase of the break in.  He gently reminded me of what a nimble athlete I am and poked me in a generally cheering way every chance he could.  I hung there momentarily with all the grace and dignity of an underage Chinese gymnast until at last I pulled my knee onto the sill.  I then heaved up the remaining, unaccountably heavy pieces of myself.  All this smoothness of movement achieved with my dress somewhere around my neck.  Finally, after I was successfully squatting on the sill taking a well-deserved deep breath, there came one last unexpected push on my rear end.  I fell into the room with an embarrassingly loud thump (note to self:  definitely lose weight). 

The eight of us had such a great a time; we planned to go back for our summer holiday ’09.

The phone call came two weeks ago, while I was visiting in the US.  I stood in shock. I couldn’t breathe.

Jeremy and another man, two friends with whom we shared such lively times in Woolacombe last summer, were motorcycling through France when Jeremy was hit by a car and killed instantly, leaving behind the most beautiful wife and three lovely teenage children.

Jeremy was a mischievous, larger than life man who possessed an infectious love of life. He adored his family and enjoyed his friends.  He was always up for a laugh and as J can attest, as they are in the same business, humor was always present even in business emails.

Jeremy is the second friend in England we have lost in as many years.  Both deaths occurred while we were visiting in the US.  I felt helpless in the US and yet when tragedy strikes back home, which it has, I feel equally as powerless in England.

The day we were asked to move to England, I could not have guessed that we would have made such good friends here.   I don’t think I imagined it would gut me to miss weddings, Christenings and funerals in England just as I have missed them back home over the past two and a half years, but it will.

I am, however, grateful for whatever time I have on this earth.  Time to experience both the sorrow and joys, pain and happiness along side the good friends and family that we have on both sides of The Pond.  

It is just that some days, I wish England wasn't quite so far from home. 

With love from England,

T-Ann