Today my friend walked 41 miles for charity. A charity supporting Huntington’s Disease. I didn’t walk with her, it was something she had to do alone.
The reason she walked was because, in August last year, her husband and my best friend committed suicide, leaving us all fucked up and confused. The reasons why he chose such an abrupt end were largely lost with him. Months of forensic, obsessive detective work gave us some insight, but as is often the way, we’ll never truly know. His genetic legacy was chequered with Huntington’s Disease. Mother, both brothers, Grandmother. Whether he had it or not is and was largely irrelevant, it had run its chaos through his adult years and, regardless of diagnosis, he was never going to be free of it, not in life anyway.
So, today she walked.
I met her at the finish line. I could, if I squinted, almost see him with her.