Mab of Dream

Some of you have known that a very good friend of mine was given six
months to live around 18 months ago, after being diagnozed with a
brain tumour. Nick Aylett died in the early hours of this morning,
leaving a wife, Pauline, and two teenage children, Mark and Jenny.

First off, may I thank everyone who has sent healing through whatever
medium, or provided advise on alternative remedies for Nick during
his fight against this. The latter were all passed onto the family
and I know for a fact that they were all applied, as I've
periodically been sent out looking for stones or herbs to apply them.
Everything was gratefully accepted.

Until his incapacity, Nick worked as the welfare officer for the West
Midlands fire brigade and everytime I've spoke to a fire officer in
our area, they not only know of him, but speak of him with the utmost
respect. After the tragedy of September 11th, the largest
collection, in Britain, raised for the families of New York fire
fighters came from the West Midlands. Nick Aylett was the person who
organized that.

He used his sharp Scorpio mind to fight on behalf of his own fire
fighters against the quagmire of fire brigade politics; and though
fire fighters throughout the Midlands might suspect how much he did
for them, his discretion meant that they never learned just how often
he put his job on the line to defend an individual fire fighter. I
knew only because I worked with his wife and became a family friend.

He was there for our Nathan, my cousin, when his son Liam was born so
poorly; and arranged for a lot of help to come my family's way to
assist with Liam's treatment.

But all of that is Nick in official mode. I knew him as a person who
never gave up, who refused to become depressed, and who constantly
made jokes to reassure us even during the absolute worst of his
suffering. And, bloody Hell, he suffered.

As a West Bromwich Albion supporter, he and I often exchanged banter,
either via text messages, e-mail or face to face, because I'm a
Wolves fan, and therefore we're deadly enemies... *cough* It was a
constant pitting of wits to see who could get the last word, before
the other one was falling about laughing too much to think of a
decent reply. If I'm honest, he always won. :-D

What West Brom are going to do now their fan has passed onto the
astral I don't know. (I am expecting a response from every
clairaudient on Witchgrove. Nick won't let me get the last word, I
know him...)

Nick never visited the office without bringing a huge bar of
chocolate apiece or cakes. I never saw him without his being utterly
cheeful, with a wicked sense of humour, and it was his attitude of
never giving up and doing so with positive thoughts, that made us do
the same. Even when the doctors were saying scary things about his
condition.

He tried everything to survive, even speaking to me about my
pagan 'bollocks', before buying himself a pyramid to sit in and
making regular appointments with a Reiki practitioner. He had a
cupboard full of herbs for teas, based on potions I and other witches
had suggested. No-one can say that he didn't fight and that he
didn't do it all with the most amazing attitude.

Major respect, Nick Aylett, you were always my hero, I just didn't
like to tell you in case you got ideas above your station. ;-) And
when I join you, I fully expect you to get the round in, in between
your fighting the cause for every lost soul in the afterlife.

yours
Jo
xxxxx

'Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,
Have none chanting for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come
unfalteringly.'

'When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd'
Walt Whitman