There is barely a sound to be heard in bone-dry, outback Wilcannia. The piercing heat of the day has finally eased and we have drifted off to sleep. But the buzz of my phone vibrating in the bedside cabinet at 11.37 was enough to wake us both.

‘Probably my dad’ I thought. Lately he has been accidentally calling at odd times… But when I picked it up I saw the name – the wife of one of my close mates. I assumed (but more hoped) it was a pocket call and hung up, not wanting to rouse from sleepiness – maybe just not wanting to believe that anything could be wrong. I figured if it was important she would ring back

Immediately it rang again and even in my half awake state my heart skipped a beat. This is important… I knew something was about to go down.

She never calls me. It’s always him. This can’t be good news. All those thoughts ran across my mind in a split second.

So I answered with a question. ‘Sharon?’ She was sobbing. ‘Andrew I have some terrible news.’

I felt myself brace.’No… What’s happened?’ I asked.

She struggled to speak – just tears.

‘Go on Sharon – tell me…’ I urged her, at the same time wondering what bombshell had dropped on their life that she would feel the need to call me. And I realised that my brain had somehow already reached the conclusion that something had happened to Graeme – otherwise he would have called…

‘Graeme was working today when a roof collapsed on him and…’ she paused, ‘he has passed away.’ She got the sentence out then was again overwhelmed with tears.

‘No… No… Sharon… I am so sorry…’ That was all I had.

I groaned and writhed as I struggled to absorb this news. Graeme was mid 50s and a very skilled jack of all trades running his own building / handyman gig in a small country town. He was loving life and had found a niche that gave him a lot of joy. With three adult children all out of home and living their own lives, things couldn’t have been much better for this family.

Beside me Danelle is also groggy, but trying to listen in, trying to piece the story together. Sharon can’t speak any more, so her son takes over and I open the phone towards Danelle. Thru his own tears he let’s us know that ‘dad was found at the site he was working on. The roof just collapsed on him.’

I see the shock form on her face…

I’m utterly lost for words. I know these calls to friends and family who need to know. I remember those moments. There is nothing you can say to help and the pain just burns in you. 

This is that kind of call…

When I turned 60 I intentionally had a very small gathering of 5 of my close friends – men (and their wives) with whom I had developed significant friendships over many years. I wanted to gather these people and thank them for their presence in my life, but I also wanted to say to them that as we enter the ‘home straight’ I want you in my corner. I want us to be friends to the end. Graeme was one of those men.

I pass the phone to Danelle so she can speak to Sharon. They are long term friends too – sisters – our families have grown up together – worked in youth ministry together, planted churches together, gone on holidays together. They walked with us through our pain in the loss of Sam – a loss they also suffered. And now we must share in their loss. It’s not something we would ever ‘want’ to do – but this is the inevitable cost of friendship and love. Sooner or later grief comes to us all. Cancer, divorce, kids in trouble, all bring deep pain – but sheer, sudden loss is devastation of a different kind. This one has no ‘bright side’, no hope of a better resolution. It’s a sharp, violent and permanent hack that can never be prepared for.

Danelle ends the call and we lie together, hand in hand, bewildered that another life of someone we love has ended way too early.

A restless night ensues as we struggle to get back to sleep. Somehow we now have to imagine a world without Graeme in it. We can’t grasp this. How can his family? We think of his parents who lost their other son in a motorcycle accident around 20 years ago. How do you lose two kids and keep your shit together?

Another person in our life has died too young… 

As we enjoyed Christmas in Newcastle with Danelle’s family I counted 3 who were missing due to early checkouts. One was just 6 weeks old, another a victim of motor neuron disease and then Sam…

Is that normal in a group of 30-40 people? Maybe it is. Maybe death is more common than we realise because we tend to look away when it happens – until it happens to us. I’m told by others that we have had more than our share of misfortune.

I know it sounds a tad morbid to say ‘there are no guarantees of a long life – that we will all get to retire and exit gracefully ‘, but that is the reality. I’m writing this as we drive home across the Nullarbor – conscious that simply a drive of this type, with caravan in tow, being overtaken by idiots desperate to save 3 or 4 minutes, carries an element of risk (as does most of life…)

Either that or we refuse to fully live ‘just in case.’

Who could have forseen a roof collapsing on Graeme as he worked?

As we drive home I pray for our friends Andrew and Simone, who for a second time are the ‘first responders’ to dreadful grief. They met us at the Mandurah Harbour when Sam died. They have dropped everything once again to go and be with this family. If you have to have anyone with you in this time then these two are the people you want. Somehow they are able to just ‘be there’, to listen and to care. But no matter how gifted you are, you are never hoping for these types of events to happen.

I have some other thoughts I’d like to write about Graeme, but they are more of the fond memories kind – not the sort that belong in a lament. And I will save them for another time.

For ever those 5 minutes in Wilcannia will be etched in my mind. Another good man whose life has ended way too soon – and another family navigating the treacherous waters of grief.