Tomorrow is the funeral of the wonderful Paul Wickerson, who came into my life with his beautiful girlfriend Sarah eight weeks ago at the wedding of our mutual friends Harry and Emma, and who left it a mere two weeks after that.
I’m struggling to find the words to describe how I feel as I sit here and consider all that’s happened in the past few weeks. We only knew Paul for a weekend, and yet he has made a lasting impact on our lives. His gentleness of spirit and sense of fun were plain to see from our first meeting, and I’ll treasure the memory of the four of us spending several cycles in the Jacuzzi (naughty) before launching ourselves down the children’s water slide. I will also always remember the fry up Paul cooked for us before we left that sunny Sunday, sharing the food he’d brought as we hadn’t had the forethought to bring our own.
When I think of Paul it will always be in that beautiful five star lodge besides a lush green golf course, a big smile plastered on his face. And I, in turn, shall make sure I have a big smile plastered on mine.
I wish I could write more eloquently but my sadness prohibits me saying more. Instead I have taken the below picture, which I hope encapsulates Pauly’s love of fancy dress, fun and silliness. And I am posting the following poem which I read at my grandma’s funeral and which, whilst heartbreakingly sad, I believe with all my heart:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
God bless Pauly. The world’s a less colourful place without you in it.