Last week Peter Willoughby was taken by cancer aged fourty-four. I didn't know him well as I rarely do evening group rides, but he was a popular member of the Victorian motorbiking community and it was appropriate that I joined him for his last ride today to Altona Memorial Park. We donned green ribbons (Peter was a Kawasaki fan) and rode behind the hearse for the short distance from the petrol station to the park, making a loud racket as we made the final turn into the park gates.
The funeral had a huge turn out and was very emotional compared to other funerals I had been to. Cancer is a terrible disease. Peter was diagnosed with cancer four years ago. He did more in his fourty-four years than most people do with eighty-four. I could never cope with the knowledge of death as well as he did: death scares the hell out of me. That isn't such a bad thing though; although I am thirty-two I have already done everything that I really wanted to do in life. Looking back, I have done a lot. I attribute this to my fear of death; everything from now onwards is a bonus. When it happens to me, I hope it is sudden.
Peace, perfect peace.
Peter Willoughby
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