Imaginary Friend

Normally it would’ve been a brief stop, some water and a snack, nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary.

But, with this group, I should have known: nothing is normal, nothing is ordinary.

Around me, scattered on rocks and boulders and benches in Syangboche, Nepal, sat 37 people, all cancer survivors, care givers, passionate crusaders for a cure, as well as a veritable who’s who if the 1980s pop scene: Slim Jim Phantom from the Stray Cats, Cy Curnin and Jamie West-Oram from the Fixx, Glenn Tilbrook from Squeeze, and more, all the brainchild of Mike Peters of the Alarm and his creation, the Love Hope Strength Foundation.

Nick Harper sings at 18,500 feet atop Kala Pattar.

It was an amazing scene as is, but then, without warning, singer-songwriter and guitarist Nick Harper, with backup from Jamie West-Oram, began strumming away, emotion filling the air, tears streaming down faces, gringo and Nepali alike.

Nick’s song, Imaginary Friend, was written by him on the way home from hospice after his mother, Monica Weston, passed away from cancer.

While I felt the emotion at the time, and was sympathetic and empathetic to Nick and his loss, I struggled — having not lost someone as Nick had — to fully understand, to grasp the depth of absence such a loss can create.

Today, July 26, 2023, marks a year since my mother, Alice Norton (more), passed away from Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It’s been a challenging year, one of feeling, embracing and digesting, contemplating, trying to understand and fathom and process the loss, the absence, the void left behind when someone instrumental in your life is — poof — gone.

My mother, Alice Milnor Norton, and I in the Massachusetts woods, circa 1977.

I keep telling myself, and often counsel others, to celebrate the existence rather than mourn the absence. Remember the life, not the loss. And, most days I do that.

But some days I don’t.