Two Seconds

It was a perfect day for both of us, both of us at work. Me at my desk and he jumping out of planes. From both perspectives there was not a cloud in the sky, no wind and a warm sun in the sky. As I wrote at my desk, what I didn’t know that at 9.00am on that seemingly perfect day as he, minutes before that time, jumped to film friends falling earthbound after him, …. he hit the ground unbelievably hard. In the last two seconds of a perfect jump, on a perfect day with friends beside him something went horribly wrong. He swerved to his left and then right and slammed into the ground. The force shattered bones and internal organs. Airlifted to hospital I received the call from his mother at 2.20pm. He was critical. Rushing to the hospital I met his girlfriend. Together with them and other family we waited, until just before midnight he died. My son was gone. And yet he hasn’t gone. Six hundred plus at his funeral testified to his love for all, and the continuance of his memory and his life. Ashes scattered at his favourite base jumping site in France linger in the air, ground and memory. Death is death, but not the end of forgetting.