Long may the mountain ring to the sound of her laughter
It was our friend’s funeral today. Chloe passed away suddenly and unexpectedly just a few days before we came out to France, leaving a husband and three young children who were the centre of her world.
Nick’s friend first, Chloe welcomed me with open arms when I turned up in his life and I was assimilated seamlessly into the Friday night Glasgow shenanigans. My liver still gives an involuntary twitch when it hears any mention of Utter Gutter or The Buff Club.
Spontaneity was one of her middle names – she phoned us one evening to ask if we wanted to go to Majorca with them. Sure, we said – when? Tomorrow. Of course it was tomorrow and of course we went. It was the summer before we moved to Cardiff and as it turns out, our last trip away together.
We could have watched the funeral online, but we chose not to. Instead, we’ve spent a Chloe day, doing as many of the things she loved as possible in celebration. Skiing and snowboarding with friends, a good lunch and a glass or two of wine to toast a fabulous woman. There was the inevitable emotion in amongst the laughter – there’s something profoundly cruel about the death of someone so young and full of life.
In spite of our best intentions, we don’t tell those we love how we feel about them often enough – maybe we assume they just know, maybe life gets in the way…and there’s always tomorrow, right? Until there isn’t. There can never be too much love in the world. Go and tell somebody important to you how you feel about them, right now.
Chloe Mireille Homewood-Allen. October 1970 – February 2022. Sleep tight, beautiful. You were, and always will be, so loved.