I’ve had one of thoshe daysh when shomething remindsh you of the pasht – like in the John Lennon shong lyric “I wash dreaming of the pasht, and my heart wash beating fasht…” (Jealoush Guy – but it washn’t about jealoushy or loshing control, and it’sh not about John Lennon) – and my heart hash been beating fasht and my eyesh have been tear-filled, at momentsh. I’m not ashamed of it.
I have been thinking about the pasht and shpeshifically about friendsh and loved onesh who are no longer here – who are gone, who are ‘passhed on’ ash the delicate amongsht ush like to put it, though where they’ve ‘passhed on to’ who can shay? – people I knew, men, women, who have died or sheashed to be part of my life, and with whom I wish I could shpend another day, an hour, share a drink or a laugh, hold in my armsh again.
Of courshe thoseh we love who are gone are shtill ‘here’ inshide ush, in memory. Memory ish an unbidden beasht. I think you’ll find that Roland Barthesh talksh about thish ash the ‘punctum’ in hish book of esshaysh “Camera Lucida”
Friendsh who are no longer with ush. There’sh a wonderful, poignant poem about that – The Old Familiar Fashesh by Charlesh Lamb – I”m shure I’ve menshioned thish before on Twitter. Alwaysh makesh tearsh come to my eyesh. I cry a lot theshe daysh.
I won’t lisht the thingsh that made me melancholy today, the namesh of the people who are gone, they wouldn’t mean anything to anyone elshe, but I think it’sh part of growing older that our shentimentsh about people become clearer to ush, we have lessh time for hiding what we feel – becaushe, ash Charlesh Lamb’sh poem exshplainsh:
[…] some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.