Thank you for being my friend
Curious about who was leaving flowers in a field, Louise Harman wrote a note which sparked an unlikely friendship…
As my dogs, Tommy and Burt, ran ahead, I followed the footpath through the fields. We were taking a new route across the South Downs near my Sussex home when a bouquet caught my attention.
There was no one around and as I walked on, I pondered who’d left the flowers and why. It was early 2016 and in the following weeks, a new bunch appeared every fortnight.
Curious, one day I brought a note which I left tucked under the flowers: ‘ Who is it that you remember?’
A few days later, there was a reply. A gentleman called Bob wrote that he was remembering his wife, Jeanne. He included a photo of her and the order of service from her funeral.
My heart filled with love at the thought of Bob and Jeanne and his grief. I wrote again: ‘I will think of Jeanne.’
The next time I checked, Bob had replied – it had made his day that someone had noticed Jeanne’s flowers and that she was in my thoughts.
Our unlikely friendship began. We left each other notes under a stone, in a bag, to protect them from the rain. We told each other about our lives and, although he was 83 and I was 29 then, we had a lot in common.
Bob had played a Johnny Cash song at Jeanne’s funeral and I told him how much I loved his music.
Bob was my only nondigital friend. Despite the fact our letters were left in a public place, our friendship felt private and sacred.
Bob told me my notes gave him something to look forward to. I felt exactly the same.
Bob had been grieving Jeanne for nine years and he told me all about their travels and how, although they’d lived all over the world, they’d never made it to the Taj
Mahal. I’d visited it on holiday in India so in my next letter, I enclosed a photo of me standing by the landmark.
I gave Bob photos of my dogs, too, but although Bob enjoyed my photos, he had no idea how to get any printed for me. It didn’t matter.
Neither of us suggested meeting in person and I had no idea if Bob’s family knew about me. Our friendship was built in our letters and that’s where it lived.
Then, in January 2017, my dad, David, died suddenly in his sleep. He was just 66 years old but had an underlying problem known as ischemic heart disease.
I was distraught.
It was my birthday a few days after Dad’s funeral and I felt an expectation to be happy. I wrote to Bob, telling him I had no idea grief could be so painful.
Bob understood how little I felt like celebrating my birthday. He wrote me a powerful letter. When I read
it, I burst into tears and yet felt so comforted.
His words helped me realise grief followed no timescale and it isn’t wrong to hold on to people you love after they’ve died. Whenever I felt pressure to move on, I thought about Bob leaving flowers for Jeanne years after her death and felt comforted that Bob, like me, was in no rush to stop grieving.
We continued to leave each other letters until Bob wrote to say he was struggling to go for walks, so we started posting letters instead.
But Bob’s letters dwindled and, by the end of 2019, I stopped hearing from him. I wondered if he was OK but didn’t want to intrude, fearing maybe Bob just didn’t want to write to me any more.
When the UK went into the first lockdown in March 2020, I felt compelled to check on Bob. I cycled to his house and left a note on his front door, adding my phone number.
A few days later, I had a call from Bob’s daughter, Janie. ‘I think you might be the letter lady,’ she said. ‘Dad’s gone into a care home. He’s developed severe dementia.’
Janie knew about me as Bob talked about our letters.
‘ You made Dad happy when he was sad,’ she said, as tears welled in my eyes.
Bob doesn’t remember me any more but Janie told me when she was telling him about me, he asked if my dad had died, so I hope there’s some inkling of the friendship we shared still in there.
It brings me comfort to know Bob thinks Jeanne is alive and well in the room next to his.
Janie sent me some photos of Bob. I cried as I gazed at him for the first time – as despite sharing our feelings, we had never met. I wondered if we’d ever walked past each other, unaware we were so physically close to a great friend.
After Dad died, I distracted myself by taking a masters in Literature & Philosophy. Now 35, the meaning of life and death means so much to me and I wanted to explore memory, trauma, grief and loss. It was difficult to study those topics while grieving and yet it was my grief which compelled me.
I wrote my dissertation about the way our relationship to death has changed in the digital era and it was challenging and cathartic.
Bob was someone I could openly talk to and our letters often tackled difficult subjects.
Inspired by our friendship, I’m launching a social enterprise, ‘Louise on Death’, to encourage curiosity rather than recovery from grief, because grief is not an illness. My doctor wanted to give me medication after Dad died, but I wasn’t ill, I was sad. Bob understood that. Anyone who is grieving understands that.
I didn’t want to numb my grief, I wanted to talk about Dad. Bob wanted to talk about Jeanne. We gave each other that space and now, I want to provide that space for others.
Bob’s family have thanked me for being his friend, but I’ll never be able to thank him enough. He may not remember me, but Bob will always be my friend and have a special place in my heart.
To support Louise, visit: justgiving.com/ fundraising/louise-katieharman
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned’ can ‘The smallest of actions on have the biggest impact our lives. One letter, with to one sentence, led me a new friend who gave kindness back tenfold.’
‘We were in no rush to stop grieving’