Dawn Star

Dawn Star

“The truth is of course is that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all the time same time. “ David Bowie

The past month marks the passing of some notables, we know to have been notable such as David Bowie and Alan Rickman. Tributes have filled the twittersphere, the newsrooms and pages of Facebook. It is a sad sting. It is even sad when death is presented to us like this at arm’s length. Most of the world, including myself, live “ordinary” lives (or seemingly so anyway) and we look as voyeurs do from afar into the hearts and minds of those who by way of aptitude, talent and good fortune, make their way to a life where upon death everyone will remember them. And we do. And we should for remembering is reverence to what was possible and remembering is good because sometimes it seems quite impossible to appreciate and take in all at once, the beauty of someone we admire or someone we love right then as they are living. And that’s because we forget to remember the wonder of every offering that human life is bringing home as a gift on the door-step.

I cry a lot. I’ve always been this way. I’m not ashamed to say so. I cried at the passing of people I never truly knew this month and I also cried remembering those I truly did love in life who have been lost to me. I have an elderly neighbour. We share a fence. It’s a strange structure given the relationship. Two years ago or so, she lost her husband. He was a loving, gentle, kind, spirit. He was the sort of man you might call humble. He was definitely the sought of man you would call beautiful. He was a beautiful man. He was the sort of man who worked very hard, starting with nothing in this country but love and a suitcase of clothes. He built, step by step, a life and a family. When this man died, my neighbour mourned his passing in a way that was both heartbreaking and a great lesson. Many mornings and many nights, more often the nights, I would hear this lady crying with her arms cast up and open into the sky, wailing, calling his name. It was unashamed and real and lonely. And it happened every day for a long time, in the sunshine, in the rain and all of everything in between. Some days I would stop in for incredible coffee and cakes so baked in tradition and loving reminders I don’t really think I could ever replicate the taste because of that. And it was then that she told me her story, the story of her beginning, of her courtship, her marriage, children, grandchildren, of success of not too many regrets. And often and always come to think of it, this woman would grab my hand and plead with me to remember him;

“Do you remember him? Do you still remember him? He was a wonderful man. Do you understand? Do you know that? Will you remember him too?”

And I would say;

“Yes! Of course we remember him. I will remember him for you too.”

And it seemed to me in those moments;

“That memory yearned to join the centre, a limb, remembering the body from which it had been severed ...” Derek Walcott

And because of that I wanted to remember too and the memories we re-made in her little cottage were as loud and important to her as a rock concert, as a grand feature film as any great work of art. Because to her, he was everything and he was forever.