One of my oldest friends died this morning. She was the same age as me. I had hoped to be able to see her this week or next, but she was never well enough to be discharged to the hospice as planned. She was the first person I got into conversation with when I moved to London, later we lived together for about a year in Aldgate - then I moved into the flat downstairs (and later, upstairs - long story). I got on very well with her dad and her brother, I went to work for her day for a while and we stayed friends until he died. We also have a lot of friends in common, but they are nearly all London based so I don't really see them often - however Facebook keeps us all together.
It's absurdly sad - and pointless, and cruel. She didn't deserve this, nobody ever does, but she didn't. I've come into my studio and there is a huge box with letters, postcards, xmas and birthday cards from her that I've kept. I can't bear to look at them now.
I'll never forget the first time we met. It was a lecture on 'The importance of the arch in gothic church architecture' - we would have been 18 - it was a terrible lecture and we were both standing at the back against the wall - although we'd never met - we looked at each other, rolled our eyes at the same time and I said 'do you want to go for a drink instead'. Best suggestion I ever made.
Good night Hannah and God bless, you were much loved.