When Yoga Can Really Help

I met Gary (Syd) Bloomfield more than 25 years ago, and we were instantly good friends. We did some crazy stuff together in our teens and early twenties.

We settled down to a strong and lasting friendship, and as those early-life friends dispersed and went their separate ways, Gary and I remained as true life-friends. When I married Poornamurti, Gary was my Best Man.

Gary's own marriage broke up soon after that, and he went through a rough period. He'd always liked a drink, but by his own admission, at that time, he took things a bit too far. A few years later, he was very ill for a while, but they eventually sorted his medication, he cut right back on his excess, and everything seemed relatively ok.

Over the last few years, he was admitted to hospital about once a year, usually when a chest infection hit him hard, due to his condition. So, when a couple of weeks ago I got a text from him saying he was in hospital again, but would be home in two or three days, I didn't think too much of it.

So it came as a real shock when yesterday I got a phone call from Poornamurti, telling me his brother Craig had rang, and Syd had taken a turn for the worse, and died. He was 47 years old.

I have to confess, it hit me hard. I took the call at my desk at work, and had to leave. I beat myself up for not having visited when he told me he was in hospital. I had done every other time, but I thought if he was going to be home in two or three days, then it wasn't worth bothering. I still think it's a shame I didn't see him one last time. But then, even if I had, neither of us would have known what was going to happen, so it would have been just another half an hour added to years of friendship, so in the great scheme of things, not a great deal - but at the same time, certainly not enough.

So here I am. My very closest friend (besides Poornamurti) - and one of only three people I really call friend - has gone.

But I know he hasn't ended. And that's more than a comfort, for it allows me to see my grief for what it is: I have no sorrow for Gary; it's all for me. I know he is no longer suffering - no longer trapped in a body that was growing in discomfort and slowly failing him. And I know and that soon he we will have another turn on the great merry-go-round of life. I also know he was fundamentally a very, very good person. Sure, he liked a little mischief. But it was only ever at his own expense, and he never willingly caused anyone any harm or upset. So I know he's ok.

The grief I feel is because I wil miss him. We won't be having the boys nights in any more, where we play cards and chat about the meaning of life, the universe and everything. I won't have anyone to introduce me to new realms of music anymore. How many Dr John's or Thelonius Monks are there that he knew well, and I never encountered yet? I won't have the benefit of him recounting the fascination of his latest readings, whether it be the life of Tony Benn, or the works of Marx (Karl or the Brothers).

So my grief is for myself, and knowing that makes it a little easier to handle.