Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The things they leave behind

Yesterday, I watched the last part of Lewis – TV drama. It was too late to work out the plot, but I like watching anyway, just for the characters. Lewis, who was the sidekick of (Detective) Morse, until his death, is now the chief, with his own sidekick. Once Morse was the intellectual and liked classical music and Lewis was the lowbrow, but now, it’s as if he has inherited something from Morse – he has taken to liking Wagner.


It was just coincidental that a couple of days ago, in Guildford, I went into HMV and bought myself a CD of Mahler. I don’t know his music, and at first hearing, some of it seemed strident. But I realise that some classical music is outside the ‘comfort zone’ and I need to hear it a few times. I bought it purely and simply because a friend, who died a few years ago, loved Mahler’s music.


This made me think of the things I have done as a result of the bereavements in my life.


In my twenties, a girlfriend died. She had wanted to visit Israel, but I had not been enthusiastic. However, in the year after her death, I went. It was as if I had to fulfil that journey for her.


A very close friend throughout my childhood and later years died at the age of 47. She was a university graduate; I was not. That was one of the reasons I started studying with Open University, and eventually got a degree from Surrey University. At some time in her life, she had joked that I would eventually want to study. When I achieved that, I really would have liked to have been able to tell her about it. ‘I finally did it,’ I wanted to say to her.


And then of course, there was my book – my first book, The Fruit of the Tree. In spite of the fact I had always wanted to write, it was the death of my baby daughter that motivated me to start writing, and all her life is contained in that book. So when loved ones die, they sometimes leave unusual legacies behind which ensure they are not forgotten and change, in some way, the person that remembers them.

2 comments:

Cathy said...

Jackie I can so relate to this. When I was at university my best friend and I both had ambitions to write. We used to joke that we would become rich and famous writing for Mills and Boon (erroneously thinking that writing for M&B must be easy!)

Instead she went off to the Civil Service and I trained as an accountant. We both married, had kids and never quite got round to the serious writing.

My friend died of breast cancer just before her 45th birthday. I realised life was too short to put off my dreams any longer and the next year I signed up for my first OU writing course. I now have a Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing and, almost by accident, another degree. I have been published and am halfway through my first novel. I feel like I'm just beginning a new part of my life and I have my friend to thank for it.

Cx

Jackie Luben said...

Lovely to hear from you Cathy. The death of my lifetime friend (from the age of 9) was one of the most devestating things to happen to me. But I think back on her now with fond memories and imagine how what she would say at some of things I have done. It is the big events that sometimes make you take a different turning.

I hope things go well with the novel.