Wow! This song came on while I was driving home lastnight and it made me feel so glad to get to hear it again. I could have gone through life without ever remembering it had existed in the background of those dark moist times of puberty and having had the chance of reliving that primitive teenage fatalistic sensation. I was about to pull out a piece of paper to make a memo so I wouldn’t forget, but I didn’t, as I’m 30something and sensible with driving. The first thing I did when I got home was to look for it… and there it was sung by this guy called Errol Brown. Who the hell is Errol? I wondered and naturally looked Errol up. He turns out to be more than a cool guy, having written songs, such as “You sexy thing” and “Secret Rendezvous”, yey, a man who knows his memes. Anyway, Errol made me think about the terrible proximity one has the tendancy to feel to their puberty. A million different phases have passed since then and yet that time seems to raise a mighty emotional response to replayed memes that predominated at the time.
I went to the cemetery the other day, as it was my late mum’s birthday and felt I should bring her or well, her decaying bones some flowers. I’m sorry I’m this cynical, but whenever I think of my mum, I think of someone dear inhabiting the cemetery, which really makes me think I am nowhere near accepting her death. In fact it is almost like accepting the death of a big piece of yourself, or well someone you related to greatly and felt attached to since birth, which is something no one who’s still alive can easily do. Anyway, it’s an ever ending paradox, I’ve accepted that.
So, I was excited in a tearful sense, as I would for once go to the cemetery in celebration, not of her death and disease, but of her birth, which gave birth to my birth and everyone else’s (referring to siblings, son, nephews and nieces) and her wonderful presence in our lives. So I bought a nice yellow pot plant and some sunflowers, since she loved anything yellow and they didn’t have any yellow roses and hung around for a while, watering the other pot plants and rearranging them and having a cigarette or two and thinking of her, trying to remind myself not to wish “happy birthday” – jesus death really stretches my brain to its limits. I was thinking about how pretty and independent she usually was and how she loved to tease her kids and grandchildren (all spoiled brats, by the way). She had this sarcastic sense of humour, which drove all three of us nuts, as we could never tell if she was serious or not.
So anyway, I was so happy to remember her like that for once and be there alone with her, without everyone else’s bullshit, because what I usually can’t get over and can’t begin to find a way to joke about, is how she died… It is terribly tormenting that she still felt young and she still made fun of us, until the last months when she lost herself in what else? cancer. It was like watching a teenager age within months. I never felt she was that much older than me, because she never behaved like she was, even though she was incredibly dependable for anyone she loved. It was just her soul, which always preserved that teenage playfulness.
Hope I made you weep about someone dear, you lost, but it wasn’t the point. My point was that no matter how old you get, your synapses seem to remain stuck at that overall mentality you had when it stopped growing (at 16) and you feel ridiculous at times, not behaving your age and feeling flooded by a sea of emotions just by hearing a silly song (no offence Errol, I think you’re way cool). Amazing! The limits were set at the age of 16-17 and all they had us thinking about at the time was how to get into university. If that’s not a global conspiracy, please tell me what is.