Why life is for living...

10 days ago I received a phone call from a friend of mine, letting me know that one of our close friends had passed away. As soon as I saw the call coming at 8:30 on a Saturday morning I knew what the call was about.

We had been told that cancer had gotten the better of him, after fighting it off for the previous 18 months. He was just 42 years old. He leaves behind a wife and beautiful 11 year old daughter.

If you didn’t know it already, life is short and it can be cruel.

Ansah and I have been friends since I was 15 and he was 17. He was part of my ‘Wimbledon crew’ - a group of boys who hailed from North London but played for Wimbledon and who, from the age of 16, travelled everyday across London together, taking 3 trains and a bus to complete our YTS (Youth Training Scheme). We were all looking to make it as professional footballers. We formed a bond that is still as strong today as it was twenty years ago. If you’re lucky in football you’ll get a group of players that become friends for life. We were lucky.

Football is an amazing sport, it teaches many lessons and it gives many gifts. The biggest gift it can offer is friendships that can last a lifetime, built on a common shared interest of the beautiful game.

Ansah could play out wide or upfront, quick and skillful, he had lots of ability. He made 4 first team appearances for Wimbledon and, if memory serves me correctly, he was the first of our group to play for the first team. That in itself was a huge achievement. I actually never really spoke to him about those games and how he did. In looking back on our friendship, whilst football was at the centre, it was never really part of it.

He never made it professionally and fell out of love with football, hardly playing again after leaving Wimbledon in 2003.

He became a police officer and was a policeman for the next 19 years. He rose through the ranks and was so well respected, Police Chief Cressida Dick visited him at home when she heard he was sick.

Ansah was a brilliant person. Witty, funny, articulate, curious and someone you could rely on. I am gutted for him, gutted for his family and for our friends who will no longer be able to have him in our lives. In times like this I think that I never know quite how to feel. I’m gutted he’s not here, I’m happy I knew him and am able to recall a lot of fun we had together. I smile when I think of him, he had a way of conveying his thoughts with a look that I won’t see again. His ‘side eye’ was truly a one off.

Mostly I’m sad for his wife Steph, and his daughter Jazmine. I know from experience that they will get through it, but it leaves a hole in your life that can never really be filled. All of our group will rally round them, but there will some tough times in the coming months and years.

I’ve written about the strange relationship I have with death. It’s an almost pragmatic approach which is obviously a deflection mechanism to stop myself from getting too hurt. In truth, for me, his diagnosis hit me harder. A terminal cancer prognosis with 1-2 years left to live and minimal chances for survival. Hearing that and knowing from experience what comes next was really hard to take.

He and I went for a walk soon after he’d been given this news. That walk is now a precious memory. We had a conversation I will remember forever. Speaking to him at that point was so tough. It was tough for me but I can’t imagine how hard it was for him. How can you offer words of comfort to someone who has only two years left to live? We spoke about religion, and how his family had a lot of faith in god and how this had destroyed any feelings he had towards a god. We spoke about his daughter, and his time left and the legacy he was going to leave behind. I tear up just thinking about it. Ansah’s curiosity was infectious, he was always reading something, learning about history, about some of the world’s greatest leaders and, influenced by his detective work, he loved a crime story.

I have written before that my motto is ‘life is for living’. There is a balance to be had but when people you know die, it confirms that you have to live this life. You have to live your life. Going through the motions is a waste and wasting time can come back to bite you.

Yesterday, myself and 5 of our original north London Wimbledon crew were Pallbearers for our dear friend. It was an honour to do it for him but it’s horrible that everyone had to go through it.

I am rational enough to know that this stuff does happen - we do enough insurance business to protect from the financial burden, so it’s a fairly regular topic of discussion - but man is it hard to deal with when it does.

Kiss your loved ones and let them know how much they mean to you. Do not take your friends for granted and where possible, try to enjoy every moment.