Gerald Meirion Richards (1925 - 2010)

I missed him again today, walking down Queen Street, refusing to even acknowledge the people all around me. Thinking of money was the trigger again, as it so often is, trying to figure out what to do if I found I didn't have enough for a train ticket tomorrow.

Not that I only miss the financial support. Not that I even mostly miss the financial support. But it was never just money. It was friendship, partisanship, unstinting support that included an occasional meal - home-cooked or the local Italian place. It was also the chats - a long Sunday afternoon talking about life and loves, a quick chat on a weekday morning, a walk to the bus stop with a concern aired and answered. I never realised how much I relied on him, in his flat at the top of the hill, how much I was sure he would always be there if I needed advice, a chat, a few extra quid to get me through the week.

It's nearly eight weeks now since that Friday night, the 26th of February, when I got the phone call, a call from a man who was once my minister. He broke the news gently, but it struck home with a cruel suddenness. It was so immediate. Walking down the street, my friend dropped dead, and in that moment my world seemed shattered. Someone so stable, so certain, so safe was gone. Without warning, without build-up, without foreshadowing of any kind. He was never going. He was simply gone.

How could it be - one so full of life to suddenly die? He had a sharper mind, in spite of his age, than many university students I have met - was more of a joker than the average class clown - held a simple faith that profoundly effected the world around him - had a vision of the future just as clear and compelling as his memories of the past. His body aged, his vision faded, but his life only shone out more clearly, touching and changing old and young, male and female, within church and without with a few words, a joke, a quiet gift - just between us. Don't tell anyone it isn't their business. He never accepted thanks - he was only doing what was right, what needed to be done.

In the weeks that have passed since his sudden disappearance, my life has changed, almost beyond recognition. It almost seemed that his death set off a series of events that had been waiting in the wings for the catalyst, waiting to catapult me into the next stage. When he died, my last strong tie to Cardiff dissolved, yet I still miss him. Nearly two months on, and I still think of him almost daily. My friend, in spite of our difference in age, gender, nationality, experience, the first of my dear friends ever to die.