A childhood friend of mine, Anthony, passed away tragically in a canyoning accident when we were 16 years old. Today would’ve been his 32nd birthday.
We were born four days apart. Our mothers were recovering in the same maternity hospital, so they put us in a crib together as they sat and chatted nearby.
Anthony and I went to primary school together, had joint birthday parties, and played on the same sports teams.
He was going to be a chef. It was the only thing he ever wanted to do. He’d bake a marble cheesecake and bring in to class every year for his birthday.
He was preparing to go to culinary school.
Anthony was a giant—we often joked about how I only came up to his shoulders. Yet, he was soft spoken; never using his towering height to impose his will on anyone.
Orange was his favourite colour.
Since Anthony passed, I formed a close friendship with his older brother, Marcus. Each time we meet, we always remember Anthony.
Ant, I hope you’re well up there, Big Guy.