A last supper

I had dinner with my uncle, Ken, on Tuesday 29th June. The next day, Wednesday, he was taken to hospital. On Thursday 1st July he died. I am convinced he died of a broken heart.

I had seen Ken a few times already this year. He had of course been to my-Father-his-Brother's funeral where he was inconsolable with grief. I'd visited him for lunch a month later and he seemed distanced from the world. Then he threw a splendid lunch for his 80th birthday inviting his large family - children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren - and his sister-in-law, neice and nephews (my mother, sister and brothers). His eldest son, Nick, gave a moving toast and spoke warmly about the need to treasure relationships. And then he invited me to dinner when he was staying at a holiday cottage near Maidstone.

Ken looked good. For a man in such poor health he looked good. Clear eyed, alert, fresh. He had apparently had a sleep in the afternoon to ensure he would be ok for the evening. At 80, with polio and a medical history that would keep a seminar of doctors going for a week, he was still defying those who had said he would never make it past 40.

We talked about everything. His first wife, Lesley, Malawi, Nigeria, the European Commission, matters of politics and history, Cambridge, wine, opera, my-Father-his-Brother........looking back on it now it's hard not to think that he was running through a life that he had dubbed a 'Rough Passage' when titling his two volumes of memoirs.

When I left, he smiled and said 'That was fun, we must do it again soon'.

And that's how I left him and that's how I'll remember him. Fun, garrulous, knowledgeable, generous in word and deed.

A broken heart? I think so. For a man who defied medical opinion for so long to give in to a mere physcial ailment is unthinkable. He seemed almost indestructable. So it had to be something else. The family he grew up in had gone, the family he leaves is secure. His sprirt, the will to fight again and again, realised that there was nothing more to give. His time had come.

Rest in peace Ken. And say hello to my-Father-your-Brother.