Thursday morning, 11:33

I heard Phillip had passed on today.

A strange, undefined phrase to use. A turning to the next chapter has never sounded so ominous and distant.

Over a period of six months, he had declined quite rapidly. When he wasn't simply a moving image on a laptop screen, I would see him pull himself across the office on a worn frame, his face grimacing in the face of his long preserved, but now deeply wounded pride.

This was a man who had built himself upon the pedestal of his own achievements. They sat beneath him, the long list of over-achieving sales targets, the managing of hundreds of employees, all encapsulated and still alive in the commanding authority in which he spoke.

It was as if these achievements could shield him, could release him from the hand we all must shake, at one time or another. It comes when we least expect it, and the earlier we face the deal, the more meaningful the bargain.

I would sit with him and aid him in his work, which, much like his physical health, showed no signs of improvement. His insistence on having a purpose provided me a purpose too. Instead of letting the man recover from his grueling medication, I would mark his work and feed back the improvements which we both knew he would not have the energetic capacity to implement. I was walking an ageing dog through the damp rain, or rather he was walking me, and I was observing mournfully as he hobbled and panted over the rugged hills.

The last time I spoke to him, it was a Microsoft teams call. Both our cameras were off, his picture icon an image of a younger man, handsome and confident, triumphant in the possession of both youth and vigour. His voice, weak and interspersed with violent coughing, thanked me for all the work I had done in the time he worked with me. I thanked him back. Although, I didn't mean it at the time. I was too close to feel the sad irony which was facing me.

Then he left. After spending a large proportion of my week sighing as his name showed up on a spreadsheet, and sitting with him explaining the use of grammar, I had nothing to do with him anymore. The clouds in the hills descended, and I watched his trembling legs carry him out of sight.

Then, this morning, a brief email revealed the eventual reality. Phillip had passed away with his family by his side. And all I felt was guilt. A deepening guilt for my impatience and willingness to think I had the power to imprison him in my own categories. Of who is worth thinking about. And who isn't.