Maxwell George French
Maxwell George French died at 21.18 on 25th
June 2007. He was 24. It had just been a normal Monday evening. My tea
was ready on the table when I got back from work and we sat down to discuss
our days. Max then got into his sports kit ready to play football with some
friends he organised French conversation evenings with. Not being the
sportiest person, he was full of trepidation, but after some reassurance he
left excited about the match.
An hour later I received a
phone call. Max’s friend told me he’d suffered a cardiac arrest and that I
had to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I jumped on a bus and once
there, sprinted into the hospital.
I was led into a small room
and given the news. Max had been jogging along joking about his lack of
fitness when suddenly he collapsed. Despite the efforts of friends to
resuscitate him, there was nothing anybody could do. I had no idea how to
act or feel.
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Asked if I wanted to see him, I
immediately said "Yes" thinking Max would shout “Surprise!” and give me a big
hug as soon as I entered the room.
This Max in the room was not the one I remembered, and try as I may, it’s
difficult to shift the image of him lying there.
The next few days were agonising and confusing.
Even eventually hearing the cause of death, HOCM, there still seemed no meaning
or reason for Max’s death. It’s hard to accept that someone so wonderful was
always going to die young. The Coroner’s insistence on ensuring the correct
cause of death meant the funeral had to wait 3 weeks.
The funeral took place 17th July 2007 in
Sheffield. His coffin was plain white and covered with messages, photographs,
flowers and paintings. It added a part of Max’s personality to an otherwise
awful day. The sheer number of friends at the funeral was a testament to the
number of lives he’d touched in his 24 years.
 I got to
know Max in our last year at Plymouth University on our return from our years
abroad. I bumped into him and his friend on a Friday evening, and although
memories of the night are hazy, knew Max was going to be a great friend.
We started sitting next to each other in lectures,
which was highly entertaining due to Max’s ‘banter’ with staff and students and
mind-blowing intelligence.
This eventually led to lunches, cinema trips and
walks around the Hoe. His flatmates eventually told me of his growing feelings
for me, as they were sick of his moping. I began to see him in a different
light.
During one cinema trip I noticed his excessive
fidgeting and checking out of my sitting position, obviously trying to decide
how to make a move. Stifling giggles, I eventually grabbed his hand. From that
moment on we were inseparable, spending every hour of every day together.
After graduating, Max gave up his plans to return to
France to move with me to London. We quickly settled and threw ourselves into
London life; exploring the city’s sights, going out with friends, attending
fancy dress dog shows…Max completed a TEFL qualification and became an English
teacher, a perfect career for someone who took such delight in correcting
people’s poor grammar! His mission was to introduce such words as ‘poppycock’
and ‘balderdash’ into everyday English language.
Max was one of the friendliest
people I have ever met. He was intelligent, hilarious, fun to be with and had a
big heart. He truly lived life to the full. He could have made the world a
better place and I now endeavour to do this in his memory. I will love him
forever. I fully intend to throw myself into fundraising for CRY to prevent
others from the pain I am currently suffering.
Joanna Vinall
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