The Sunday Reflection #58 - No one knows the hour....

 This week, we saw the sad passing of legendary British singer Terry Reid. The news shocked me, not least because I spoke to Terry in June, when he booked some studio time with us for some forthcoming gigs. He was on good form and rather optimistic about the forthcoming shows. As is the way with long standing customers, we exchanged a laugh and a joke. He must have been diagnosed with cancer shortly after I spoke to him. He certainly gave no inkling of the problem when I took his booking for sessions in September (which at the time of writing are still on the system). I was not a close mate of Terry, we always had a bit of a joke and a laugh when he rehearsed. I learned of his passing, listening to the radio. It served as a reminder that no one really knows the hour when our time is up.

Back in 2012, I had the sad task of watching one of my best mates die. He had oesophageal cancer. In his final hours, there were probably half a dozen moments when we thought he was gone, but he hung on. He finally went at a point when everyone thought he was ok for a few minutes and nipped out for a cigarette. He died on his own, he clearly wanted to (or maybe the grim reaper simply waited for the opportunity to sneak in). 

Paul had been the bass player of the False Dots from 1980 until 2009. We had so many shared moments in the band, key moments in my life that were absolutely elemental to me. He left the band in 2009, when he moved to Portsmouth. We replaced him, but I would have always welcomed him back and found a way to accommodate him in the line up, had he returned. I always believed he would, I believed (wrongly) that the Good Lord had put Paul on earth to be the bassist of the False Dots. When he died, I couldn't play the songs he'd played on. Even though we knew he was dying, I clung to the mistaken belief that there may be a miracle. To this day, I still occasionally have dreams that he turns up to join the band again. But life doesn't work like that. Time has moved on and we are now a very different band. If he did a Lazarus and returned, I don't know how we'd fit him in? Maybe he could take over guitar and I could concentrate on singing? Am I alone in agonising over dilemma's that simply won't happen? 

The truth is that we had our chance and we had our time in the band and that time has gone. It was only really when Covid hit and the world tilted on its axis that I became comfortable with that part of the bands legacy and felt I could move on. Someone asked me what me greatest weakness is. That (to me anyway) is easy. As you probably have guessed reading my comments about Paul, I find it difficult to let go of the past. My one saving grace is that I also believe in the future, but mentally, I carry too much baggage and it slows me down and drags me back. I have things I want to do in my life and as I will soon be 63, I am aware that time is not on my side. I don't need to be dragged back by battles that have already been won or lost.

It is strange. When I walk around London these days, most of the offices I worked in have been rebuilt or repurposed. Pubs, some of which had been around for centuries have gone, or been renames. Half the bus routes from Mill Hill that I used as a child no longer come here or have different destinations (52, 140, 113, Green Line). The shops that were the pinnacle of the Broadway have also gone. Woolworths, the COOP, WH Smiths are now just memories on photographs. The Church I attended as a child was demolished and rebuilt. My Dad, who passed away in 1987, would hardly recognise the Broadway now. I suspect he'd do a double take and make sure the Motorway Bridge was still there! When he passed, we still had a cold war, the USSR, The UK was in the EU, South Africa was still living under Apartheid. Northern Ireland was living in a state of terror. There were no mobile phones or internet (Dad would have loved them). Cars still ran on leaded petrol. Smoking was allowed in pubs. 

Dad died without warning. He left a massive hole in my life. If he was still alive he'd be 108 now. He smoked 60 cigarettes a day and drank at least three beers every day. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this took its toll. That doesn't mean it wasn't a massive shock when he died. Like Paul, I still have dreams about him. Usually, he's imparting some sort of wisdom and I always take note of it. In 1988, I was run over by a car. For about three seconds, I thought I was going to die. It was an odd moment. I was actually quite pleased. My first thought was "I'll see Dad again". Once I got over the pain and shock of the accident, I often thought about this. I am no longer scared of death. I don't look forward to the process, but I am at peace with what comes after. 

No one teaches us how to cope with death, be it our own or that of the people we love. The world moves on. Things change, but it seems to me that such events anchor a bit of us in the past. I am still not sure whether it is best to forget those we love and move on, or to sit around as I do, mentally trying to rewrite the past, as I tend to. The one thing I've learned is that no one is immortal and no one is irreplacebale. I thought my Dad was immortal and indestructable and I thought Paul irreplaceable in the band. I've learned the hard way that neither was true. We don't know the hours that both us and our friends will leave this small globe circling a medium size star. All we can do is make the most of it whilst we are here. The one thing that I am pleased about is that with both my Dad and Paul, we had major fallings out a couple of years before they passed. In both cases, we had made our peace, not in anticipation of their passing, I must add, and we were on good terms. A good friend advised me when I fell out with my Dad "Think how you'd feel if he dropped dead tomorrow and you weren't talking to him". It was advice I heeded then and advice I heed now, when I have fallings out. You have to do something pretty bad for me to drop you, if you are a friend. 

And I'll leave you with a song. Back in 1984, in a pub that no longer exits, Paul plays bass for The False Dots. A different world. I do miss this, even though I'm having a blast with the band and what we are doing now. I never thought we'd play this song without Paul!