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Bryan

29 January 2010

This is another sad entry, I'm afraid.

I’m writing about my friend Bryan, who died this week of lung cancer. He was 57. I first met him two years ago at the Physiotherapy group I went to every week for acupuncture. He had had a massive stroke in 1996, which left him with impaired mobility in his left side, a left arm that didn’t work at all, and, he said, some cognitive problems. He found that aspect, he told me, the most debilitating part of his physical condition. He would find himself unable to finish certain ideas, he would lose the thread of something and need reminding. However, with his usual stubbornness, he wouldn’t allow such technicalities to deflect him from things he wanted to do. He was an active member of a Steam Railway group in Derbyshire (more in a minute) and flew to Cyprus from Manchester last Summer to visit his parents. He was also the chief policy writer for the local SDP (Social Democrat Party) and cared about politics, as he didn’t about everything he cared about, passionately.

When I first met him, he struck me as a typically-dour Yorkshire man. I don't mean that pejoratively, simply that he exhibited almost stereotypical "Yorkshire" traits of bluntness, a bluff sense of humour, a no-nonsense attitude to the world, whilst having at the same time a heart of gold. He was always very generous and kind, with a wicked sense of humour. He also understood what it meant to lose one's mobility and have to change one's life out of he blue. I saw him physically struggle with his motorised wheelchair and his walking sticks, but always act with courage and determination. In flying to Cyprus, he admitted he had been really afraid. It was the first time he’d gone anywhere abroad since his stroke. “But I’m buggered if poor mobility, a head that doesn’t work properly all the time, and a silly left arm are going to stop me!” he said. And they didn’t. And the fact that the grounds-people in Cyprus broke his motorised wheelchair trying to unload it from the aircraft in Cyprus didn’t put him off his stroke either. He simply demanded they fix it. They fixed it.

Bryan was a steam-railways enthusiast all his life and with the fervour of a true convert, tried to preach to me the virtues of Steam Railways. For this, I needed a sense of humour, I can tell you. I now know the insides of a railway engine in ways I almost blush to acknowledge. Could probably take an exam on it. But we did share some interests: China – he devoured my bookshelf on the matter; debates and discussions about everything under the sun; “Star Trek”. Well, believe me, that was one geek meets another geek. We swapped favourite episodes, the films, the actors, the writers, the paraphernalia. You get the picture!

Bryan showed me what someone can do when they are determined not to give in. I never saw him give in. I remember him telling me about being bullied by some louts in his wheelchair when he was buying a loaf of bread from the corner shop, and how he dealt with it. We talked about what it means to stand up for yourself when you can’t stand up very well. He would listen. He never judged me when I had a hard day, which considering his difficulties showed a great deal of magnanimity I think. He told me he’d had three lives. His first life was when he was a child, and knew nothing, but thought he knew a lot. His second life was when he was married and had children, and thought he had the world at his feet. His third life was after his stroke, when everything became more mysterious and difficult again, but still with hope and a sense that he was living the best life he could. He said that it was only after his stroke that he realised what it meant to know that he was giving life his very best shot.

I will miss him.

Moira 29.01.10.