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Today was Kam’s funeral, at 11am, in London. Since we couldn’t be there to say goodbye, I’m sure you’ll indulge me as I scrawl a few additional, utterly inadequate words about her on here…..

We knew Kam for almost 20 years. Suddenly, at just 45 years of age, she is gone. She died eight days ago.

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She never joined Facebook; she wasn’t keen on social media. Email aside, Kam’s singular concession to instant communications was her mobile phone that was never out of her reach, and the texts that came flying our way often unexpectedly. When I asked again about Facebook a year or two ago, I received a bemused look, a smile, and finally a drawn out, soft reply: “Well, you know, maybe I’ll…. think…. about it….”

I knew that was Kam’s genteel way of saying, “Uh, Rob, no.” To her, “social networking” meant lovely, handmade Christmas and birthday cards. It was letters on paper composed in a clear script. It was carefully wrapped gifts with perfect bows on top. It was sharing Champagne.

Indeed when you met Kam for lunch, it was likely in a cool cafe near, say, Harrow school. When it was for dinner, it was in one of London’s posher restaurants. In Manhattan, years ago, I was immensely relieved when my favorite French restaurant met with her approval. Friends, Kam insisted, were supposed to get together in quality places.

And if you needed help, she would be there – and in the “if you needed to be picked up at the airport in the middle of the night” sort of way too. Once, from London, we were unable to get my in-laws on the phone in Christchurch (130 miles away). Kam had then been living in the vicinity, so we rang her near midnight to see if she could drive over to the flat and make sure they were okay. She didn’t hesitate. (My father-in-law had at some point just put the handset on the main base sideways or something, so the phone was off the hook.)

There was nowhere she seemed not to have visited – from America, to China, to India, to you name it. Back from a trip to Rome years ago, we joked the designer shopping had undoubtedly been a big draw for her. She never looked anything less than well put together.

Unexpectedly, Sikh Kam said also that she had thought the Vatican had been so inspiring that she could almost have become a Catholic. We knew she didn’t really mean that of course. Anyone who knew her knew she never could have ceased to be Sikh.

A couple of weeks ago, while we were in the midst of helping organize a summer holiday to Florida with another family, we hoped hoped hoped Kam wanted to come along too. When we knew Kam was going to be involved in whatever was happening, we always looked extra-forward to it.

In recent years she had developed a serious health problem. Kam rarely said much about it, and always conveyed the impression all was somehow under control. She was still working, and commuting on the London Underground, a few days before her death.

She had given us a heads up that she wanted to come to Florida, but she wouldn’t know if she could travel until closer to the actual time – and that’s where matters had been left….

We know for sure now: she won’t be in Florida. There will be no more trips, no more text messages, no more cards and letters, no more bows, no more smiles, and no more Champagne.

Our lives – the lives of everyone who knew her – will be emptier and bleaker without Kam. She was the personification of grace, charm and caring. It was our inestimable privilege and honor that she had thought enough of us to have shared some of her too short life with us.

I suppose we’re all still trying to process the cruel reality that we’ll never see her again. It has been an incredibly depressing week. Yet I’m determined also to try to remember these words: “Death can destroy the body but not the soul.”

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