Jessica

I had a dream last night.

I was walking along a path with Jessica. We were holding hands and chatting away. And then we came to a point were the path diverged - one way led up a set of stairs, the other way led down onto a beach. It was here that we were meant to part ways. Jessica turned to me to say good-bye. I started to cry. She too, had tears in her eyes. "This always happens when it comes to the good-bye," she told me. We hugged each other. I took a deep breath, and we smiled. I headed up the stairs and Jessica continued along the path, down towards the beach. I watched her from the top of the stairs as she walked on. She looked up at me and we waved and she smiled. She looked so happy. She left me with a message: "Live life!"

I woke up. It was five am. And then I realised: that was Jessica's way of saying good-bye.



I first met Jessica when I was sixteen. I was in an old run-down school hall, on the stage, sorting out some books or something. Jessica came onto the stage. She smiled at me and said: "Let's dance! Do you know the waltz?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know how to waltz," I replied.
"That's Ok. I'll teach you."
So Jessica and I danced the waltz around that stage. There wasn't any music. But that didn't matter. And that is how I met Jessica.

Jessica and I became good friends. In our last years of high school, we would talk about all those teenage issues and try to make sense of the adult world that we were about to enter: What about God? What about sex? What about sex before marriage? What about the world? What about refugees? What about marriage? What about children? What about learning French? What about feminism? What about homosexuality? What about study? What about university? What about careers? What about death?

When Jess found out she had cancer, I sent her flowers. How dumb is that? Flowers die after a few days -- that certainly doesn't strike a message of encouragement, does it?!

I was so excited to hear that Jessica was getting married.
"Jess," I chided, "I've been waiting for you to marry me!!"
"Ahh, Robert," she replied cheekily, "you never asked!!"

Jessica taught me a new way of looking at life. "Jess, when you know you are going to die," I asked her, "do you realise how trivial and mundane people's lives really are?"
"Yes," she replied. "But you must find the gifts and the beauty of life even in the mundaneness and the triviality."
Take the example of going down the road to buy a bottle of milk -- Did you see an old friend along the way? Did it stop raining, so you didn't get wet after all? Did you trip over, and laugh at yourself? Did you find something special in the act of going to get a bottle of milk.

Jess, thank-you for being a great friend. Thanks for your love and laughter. Thanks for our long phone conversations. Thanks for your encouragement. Thanks for listening. Thanks for that postcard you sent me from Switzerland. Thanks for you amazing gift of LIFE, which you shared so generously with many of your friends.

Jess, it was privilege and a pleasure to be your friend. I'm glad to know that you are happy!


In loving memory of Jessica Horton (nee Disteldorf)
1982-2008