Laura

Laura Gibb was a dear friend to me. She recently died. These are my thoughts and reflections on her death.

Laura is, if I’m honest, one of the three people in my life that I have allowed myself to fall for. She had deep eyes the colour of off-green storm clouds and ashen, strawberry blonde hair that in the right light looked almost silver.

I loved Laura. And I should have married her.

Fate, it seems, was just itching to get in the way, as she usually does from time to time, though.

At the age of 15, Laura was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disorder, a Fatal genetic flaw that causes advanced neuropathic degradation and eventually death.

A few years later, I Told her that I would be the one that cared for her after everyone else wanted to put her into a respite centre and leave her to die, I told her that I would be by her side throughout every step of whatever treatment the NHS in the early part of the ‘00’s could offer.

I asked her to Marry me, as I declared that I truly loved her, and would spend the rest of my life with her. To whatever end.

But she smiled, as she usually did back then, and with a tear rolling down her cheek, she shook her head and said “I cannot do that to you”.

We lost contact soon after, and she eventually ended up in respite care, and then died earlier this year.

I’ve had a friend recently state that I had in someway prepared myself for her eventual death and that it didn’t effect me as much as it would have had I been there.

In many ways this is right, but in one, one crucial factor it is not. I loved Laura. I always loved her and a part of me always will.

Goodnight my angel. You are the sun and the moon to me. I’ll see you again.

I love you.

J.