I have mentioned more than once that the great treasure I have collected consists of bright minded friends.
One of the most brilliant was Python’s Terry Jones.
It has been a year and a day since he walked on January 21, 2020 — weeks before I was to visit again. I would have had to borrow the money to go to London when he was on his deathbed since I’d sunk everything into the [cancelled by plague] big European trip [would’ve included a meet with chums in Italy, too] that was only weeks away. The false pride that would not permit me to borrow has been erased because of that mistake.
I had visited three times after his horrible diagnosis with Progressive Aphasia which robs those afflicted of verbal capacity and speech. It was difficult for him to say much other than “No” at our first visit after that at his Highgate home. He could and did say my name but I admit that I initially wondered if he hadn’t been primed. After a few days, it was obvious he just knew it and said it when he could.
I expected less on the three sightings that occurred after that — the disease is progressive and I have worked as a caregiver. It would not be pleasant to witness the decline. I understood that visitors were few and far between; it is extremely difficult to interrelate with a person that was nothing like what you see, when once you laughed and loved on an equal plain. Some people are not equipped for that.
I had a stretch of time which became very sticky and distasteful after a relationship with a shape-shifting criminal who felt attached to me and intended to remain so. I lost many, many friends during that time. It was easier for others to stay away from all that. Terry remained steady and faithful with his friendship through all of that and even comforted my children during that terrible time. It was who he was. I was as good as that in return; I would not abandon him either.
Fortunately, he was well loved and cared for by his “first family” (previous wife Alison, son Bill, daughter Sally) as it was all a bit much for young Anna who had to live outside of London to care for their young daughter, Siri. They were there when they could no longer bring him to the old place in Camberwell (which they did until Novemeber 2019 when he could not ambulate any longer). They were champs. And Anna, too, was there with other beloveds at the end.
Much of our time in the last visits were spent either walking or WhatsApp video messages. He still smiled but laughter was gone — that last was a heartbreak, he had a joyful laugh.
I will miss him until I walk on myself but I know I am not alone in that even though many of my fellows didn’t have the great good fortune of his companionship.