He knew he did not have long left. So did we.
When we visited him that afternoon to say goodbye, the first thing he said was: come on, bring that stool and let’s sit outside on the balcony.
The balcony was less than two square metres. There were three of us sitting there. He could smoke outside, and he still wanted to, even though it was his lungs that had brought him to this farewell.
He asked how we were and what we had been doing. We told him we were starting a new business with our daughters.
He wanted to know more.
And then we hesitated. How do you tell a friend who is going to die soon that you are making something for people who are saying goodbye? We had mixed feelings. We told him that, too.
Even so, we took a small pouch out of our coat, with a few smooth, colourful stones inside. We held a phone against one of them. A memorial page opened. We looked through some photos, showed him a video, scrolled past a few pieces of text and typed in a memory. It appeared on the page straight away.
There was a moment of silence.
Then he said, ‘But this is what I want.’
He did not want memorial cards. He wanted stones to be handed out. He told us he had a USB stick indoors with videos of the bed and breakfast he had run with his wife for many years. A special place for us, because we were married there, with him conducting our wedding ceremony.
Then he asked, 'Could I be your first customer?’
He would send his son over to arrange it.
Those videos are on his memorial page now. He was able to see them himself. He added a message of thanks. And the very first memory on his page was one he wrote himself. That makes his memorial page especially meaningful to us. Not only because it holds his photos and stories, but because he was able to decide for himself what he wanted to leave behind.
On the day of his funeral, people formed a guard of honour. As they stood there, the funeral director handed out the stones. Eighty of them. Everyone went home with something in their hand. A small stone, with his images, his words and his story behind it. And perhaps most importantly, a memory that did not end on the day we said goodbye.
Stories that touch
Beloved stones ®