Chris

I felt the need to remember you today. Remember how you were and how you will always be in my mind. I can see you still, broad smile, skin the colour of honey and lashes that brushed the tops of your cheeks whenever you blinked.

They took you away from us with a single shot to the head and for a long time afterwards your name would never be mentioned without two words…‘if only’.

They came to your house and tried to come in… if only you’d rung the police. Your mother woke you to say there was someone outside… if only you’d stayed inside. You caught them unaware and chased all but one off into the night. Him, you tackled to the ground and instead of calling the police you offered him penitence and let him go… I wish you hadn’t, if only you’d called the police and kept him till they came. If only you weren’t such a good guy, if only you didn’t always believe in the inherent goodness of mankind. If only you weren’t always the one everyone came to, the saviour, the sportsman, the gentle giant. If only you hadn’t sung so sweetly and laughed so heartily, if only you hadn’t been my friend, if only I’d had the chance to tell you. Instead I didn’t tell you and I carry that regret with me.

That night he came back and you, unbelieving, went to the door to find the devil himself waiting. They took you away, your mind already gone, while your heart, your gentle loving heart, fought on bravely.

They sent a party out into the bush to find them and we were angered by the sheer madness of an act so brutal and finite that we came together and found amongst ourselves men willing to cross into lawlessness to put you to rest.

6 months later, we heard news that those bastards who took your life had been found. They had taken refuge deep in the jungle, but our search party had finally uncovered them.

The police, like when you died, were never involved. The bush wire sent word to your Mother. She was told that all she needed to do was say the word. She didn’t. Like you, she forgave them.

I’m left with the clear memory of the night you died. You sang a song and I can still hear the rich tones in my head. It was Bob Marley’s Three little birds. You sang the same line over and over, your voice bubbling with laughter,

‘Don't worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna to be alright’.

I laughed with you, not knowing just how much you meant those words. That night you drove me home and the next day you were gone.

I will remember you always.