There is a poem about life whizzing by, and we reach out and grab hold, and whizz for a while with it.

Some friendships are like that. Good times of closeness and adventures together. But then, as life turns, going different ways.

Such friendships can elicit strong and great memories. But, unfortunately, more often than not, we never quite find the time to reconnect.

Yet we always thought there would be time. Until there wasn’t.

Roy was the sort of guy you’d want beside you in a storm. Or a war. He was big and strong and unfailingly cheerful and enthusiastic. He sort of charged at life, laughing all the way.

He was also, in the best sense, a gentleman. Respectful and gracious.

I don’t remember whose idea it was. It was one of those ideas young men sometimes have late at night, after a good bit of socializing.

So, back in the day, namely the days before young children arrived, Roy and I decided to swim across Auckland Harbour.

By ourselves. We weren’t about to join one of those large organized swimming events. With their fees. We thought we could plan and execute this with minimal assistance. Who needs safety in numbers?

Of course we hadn’t quite realized how many boats and ships and all that might be about at the same time!

Well, the training began. It was helpful having a girlfriend who worked at Greenlane National Women’s hospital and could be persuaded to lend us her free entry card for the hospital pool.

Outdoor pool that is. Cold outdoor pool. Especially at 7 am each morning when we and a few other hardy types made the icy plunge.

I can’t remember what our target was, but probably three kilometres of continuous swimming. A few months of Springtime aquatics later, and we were ready for our November escapade.

Now, given that we planned to swim from Mission Bay to Devonport, there are a few things to consider. And being young, but not totally foolhardy, we did a little bit of the old ‘health and safety.’

Firstly, we decided on Sunday afternoon. Thinking that the big ships – the ones where you have to move and they don’t – wouldn’t be about.

Secondly, we bought fluro swim caps. Bright pink no less.

Thirdly, we had a mate who owned a classy wooden rowing boat, and he was persuaded to accompany us.

That was probably our saving grace. Not to haul us out the water, you understand, but to tell us what was bearing down. And that we need to stop. Or swim backwards for a bit. Or just tread water and wave until they passed.

You see, unbeknownst to our planning, Sunday afternoon has a number of motor and sailing boats using the harbour, even racing. Not really paying much attention to a couple of pink blobs in the water. And, yes, some large container-type ships do decide to move out of the harbour on Sunday afternoons!

Anyway, all that and all that, swimming forward, back, and forward, through diesel slicks and other pollutants, swimming a lot further than what you’d think, we hauled our triumphant selves out of the water at Devonport, laughing all the way. And posed for the photographs.

Good memories. Great memories.

I got a call in the weekend. Two weeks ago Roy was told he was dying, and by the time you read this he might be dead.

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‍Roy, as your soul leaves the bosom of this life, ‍

the arms of your family and friends, ‍

‍journeying to the great unknown,‍

go with our respect, laughter, and memories.

‍May you know yourself to be held, ‍

by the strong and resilient threads of love,

spun between you and those loving you,

‍threads that we might call God. ‍

May you remember us, holding our smiles.

May you forgive us, letting go of any hurts.

‍‍May you bless us, recalling the good times.

‍May you travel light and with love.

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And may you know yourself, as we've known you, ‍

to be blessed, and a blessing to others.

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Rest this day, and forever more, in our peace.

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‍Glynn  

p.s.  "Roy" is a pseudonym.

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