A Candle To Light You Home

An essay on friendship, music, grief, and recovery.

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Ritual means something different to everyone, and even more so in this age of digital connection. The ritual I am most familiar with is the vigil. The best vigils involve candles and hope for good things to come, one way or another.

For most of my life, I have been a Beatles fan, and more specifically a George Harrison fan. Upon turning 13 in 2005, I became a member of the official George Harrison forum. Over time this led to my forming close bonds with other fans. The first major event I recall being involved in was George's virtual birthday party in February 2006. It would have been his 63rd, had he lived.

One of the forum moderators offered some virtual banoffee pie. Another forum member in Argentina wondered what banoffee was, and I replied to their message, always happy to help.

'Banana and toffee, I think' isn’t the most conventional way to start a friendship, but that was all it took. “Chris Harrison” and I ended up talking nearly every night via MSN Messenger. Over time we discussed every aspect of our common interest, and it was a joy to share in her sense of humour.

'My husband, my kids...my cat and my dog are learning to speak so they can say "Oh, George again!"'

Chris' favorite topic happened to be the one about which I was least informed - George's spirituality. Herself a practicing Hindu, she filled in the gaps in my knowledge.

Through these conversations, I came to understand the core principles of Hinduism and their significance in Chris’ life. She called the Bhagavad Gita – the Hindu holy text – ‘her book’, and referred to it whenever she had a question.

The more I learned about the text, the more parallels I saw with Chris’ life as she underwent treatment for breast cancer. She shared little of this aspect of her life with me, although she had begun a specific thread on the forum to gather Harrison quotes and lyrics as inspiration through this challenge. ‘Here is like a garden where I can breathe George’s peace’, she wrote. There were many of us in the community who contributed to that discussion on a regular basis. It became a place of hope within a place of hope.

As I came to understand Chris’ illness, it became clear to me that there was an ever-present element of borrowed time. The one person I wanted to talk to about Chris being unwell was Chris, and that didn’t seem fair.

In the midst of the darkness, there were some beautiful moments, like the evening she spent three hours trying to send me a video of George Harrison’s performance with Paul Simon on Saturday Night Live in 1976. After several failed attempts – this was the era of dial-up Internet – she enlisted some help.

‘It’s Six, from the thread.’

Despite all the problems, they eventually managed to share the footage with me.

Such generosity of spirit was central to the way Chris lived her life – always with humour.

‘Like I tell my kids – be patient, the cake is baking!’

Although Chris rarely discussed her health with me, a few weeks after that wonderful evening she mentioned that she had some tests coming up. I offered to pray for her, and the wider community began to light virtual candles to express our love and support for our dear friend. Following those investigations, Chris remained involved with the forum, and a precarious sense of normality returned.

November 2006 brought joyous news. Chris visited her forum thread to report that her doctors had said the cancer had been defeated. There were a few things to be addressed, but crucially, no more cancer.

I was elated – remission had seemed more than we could ever hope for, but this amounted to the all clear in my mind. Chris’ joy was truly beautiful to behold.

For the next couple of months, she disappeared from the forum, but that made sense in light of everything else.

In January 2007, I was dismayed to receive a message from another forum user, informing me that Chris was once again unwell. He told me that he had arranged a prayer vigil with his local Hare Krishna temple and invited all to take part. This was my first experience of a truly global online community in sync. That vigil was a powerful support to me as I suddenly felt as though I was doing something to help.

A couple of weeks after our gathering, I was surprised and delighted to see a Messenger notification from Chris pop up in the corner of my screen. Up to this point, I had initiated our conversations. Joyful though I was at her return, I would soon learn that it wasn’t all good news.

In the time we hadn’t spoken, she had moved to the capital, Buenos Aires, to be with her parents and access better treatment. ‘I got worse, but it seems we have a plan.’ That plan included fairly imminent surgery, about which she instructed me to inform other forum members. ‘If you visit the board, tell them.’

Due to Chris’ absence, my own forum visits were few and far between. She made the forum somewhere I wanted to be. I asked whether I could inform another friend privately, and when she agreed, I asked him to convey the message. Although cheerful as ever, Chris seemed tired to me. When she mentioned another procedure, ‘maybe next year’, my stomach dropped.

In an instant I understood that her remaining time was shorter than I had ever imagined. Other parts of that conversation are lost to time, but her brief parting phrase has never left me: ‘I leave now.’

She passed away just a few months after that conversation, on Easter Sunday. Meanwhile, I continue to find my way in a world without the person who knew me better than I know myself.

This loving remembrance goes to show that you’re never truly lost, as long as you have a candle to light your way home. Chris’ friendship continues to be my candle.

By Casey Bottono

From: United Kingdom

Website: http://www.caseybottono.com

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