My best friend died. What now?

Have you have lost someone close to you, and it felt shocking, premature and entirely unfair? You are not alone.

Unlike the movies, Shane’s death did not appear to be the culmination of a glamourous story arc. Nor did there seem to be any greater meaning to his passing that made it easier to get over.

His life was extinguished early, quickly and without warning, just before Christmas 2020.

I met Shane in 2006 in Lyon, France. Though we were from very different backgrounds (he was a sporting extrovert and I was a musical introvert), we found in each other a partner in crime during our 20s. At that time our priorities were partying, music and travel. In that order.

Early on in our friendship, I realised Shane could party hard and then wake up and work harder. I regret that his work ethic never rubbed off on me, but his confidence certainly did. And I’m grateful for that.

His parents are, respectively, a drama-teaching mother with fierce political views and a philosophizing, professional basket weaver father who has worked on sets for Game of Thrones, among other projects. An only child, Shane excelled at sports early and went on to represent his county and country on the Gaelic Football pitch. Together they were, in his words, the three musketeers. A wonderful, welcoming and loving family.

We got into trouble often in our 20s at University where we studied French together but, in our 30s, we began to take life more seriously and our conversations were less regular.

By 35 he was deep into a career at the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (HNHCR), and a rising star in the organisation. He was promoted early compared to his peers, a fact which did not go unnoticed by Shane. His work took him around the world, forging intensely close friendships and a few broken hearts along the way. I travelled to meet him at his postings which opened up new parts of the world to me, and kept the friendship going despite the distance in between our hometowns.

In him I found I was able to confide and make plans for the future. One such plan was to send my children to see him in whichever war-torn country he was in for their ‘education’. His eyes would light up when talking about his cousins, his nieces and nephews and godchildren (of which my son is one).

Shane combined charm and wit with fierce determination, and these attributes seemed to be the perfect fit for his work on the international relations scene.

A couple of years ago I started a family and he became busier and busier with work and balancing his vast network of good friends.

Last year Shane seemed to worry about himself and his future more than usual: in particular his cigarette-smoking, high cholesterol and relaxed approach to fitness (a discipline which at one point in his life he took very seriously). But on the whole, he had an optimistic and ambitious attitude to his life.

Six months before he passed away, he began to worry more about some issues at work. Our conversations rapidly increased in frequency as I tried to support him and be a listening ear outside of his organisation. During his final couple of months he remarked to me that he felt he had had a blessed life, and that he couldn’t believe how lucky and successful he had been. In his words, he felt he was due a disaster after so many years of success and privilege.

Suddenly over a weekend in December 2020, I noticed that he had stopped replying to my text messages. This in itself was not strange. But I sent a final message on Monday afternoon and it didn’t deliver. The next day messages and calls from family and friends came flooding in and my heart broke.

The details were fragmented. A car accident. South Africa. He had popped out to buy cigarettes.

Immediately, memorials started online and people offered their kind condolences to his family— I couldn’t understand how people accepted the news so quickly and, to be honest, I still don’t really feel like he is gone. I still talk to him when I run my usual jogging route.

All the fears he had about his future were instantly unfounded, and all the plans he made were for nothing. Like a lightbulb switched off, he vanished from the world into our memories. Thanks to COVID, myself and many hundreds who would have wanted to pay respects were unable to do so.

Well wishers lined the village streets to watch his final journey to the crematorium. I wish so much I could have seen it.

One thing is for sure, his life was lived fully and he will be remembered by so many people like me whose lives are all the richer for having known him.

OK, so perhaps there was a story arc. Perhaps there is always a story arc, after there is some time to reflect, but is there a greater meaning behind his death?

Life is short, unfair and so very special while we have it. Too often we postpone life and think “next time”.

But there is no “next time”. We have the ultimate power in this one life to be exactly who we want to be and perhaps even inspire people to follow our example, just like Shane did.

I guess that’s the plan now.

Rest in peace, old friend.

Gros bisous.