Friday 30 October 2009
14:04 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
I don’t remember who put the ghetto blaster next to the John’s grave, all I heard was a click and the tune filled the still air. I do remember the day, it was a warm spring day, the sky was clear and pale blue, just a few stripes of white, the warmth of the sun touching our faces, the leaves on the trees just starting to bud and even though the birds were twittering away without a care in the world it seemed a still and silent day. Certainly all of the people, friends and family gathered around the grave seemed quiet, lost in thought.
As the lyrics Imagine there's no heaven, It's easy if you try started to fill the air, my heart was abruptly torn wide open, a deep searing pain filled the space between my breasts, my throat constricted as I swallowed hard, fighting back the hot tears that were starting to prick my eyes and roll down my pale cheeks. As the words Nothing to kill or die for hit my ears, the tears simply pored forth. In the background, somewhere, there was a wailing woman, her pain raw and obvious. It took sometime to realise who it was. It was her. The one he had died for.
My mind wandered back to my wedding day, John the only black face amongst what seemed to be hundreds of white friends, it was over 20 years ago and we weren’t so cosmopolitan then, so it was unusual. Oh he was so handsome, you just wanted to nibble him. He and several others looked gorgeous in white tuxedos, holding the bride, me high in the air, across their hands, squeals of laughter, as they tried to in unison to pick me up and hold me there as the photographer snapped us. I am sure I was quite light, some 2 stone lighter than today and without the laughter lines.
He DJayed that day, twice, playing my favourite songs, whilst everyone got wasted, it was a good day. I could see myself demanding he play Wonderland, laughing, he said ‘I know I know’. You see he always played it for me when I was in the clubs, he knew it was my song. He was best friends with Billy next door, so I often saw him and he would always laugh and say ‘come on Dale' when I fell out with what became my awful husband.
The final bars of the song And the world will live as one bought me back to the day. Click the music stopped. A deafening silence, suddenly filled by birdsong bought me out of my reverie. Shocked faces looked at each other, as John’s mum asked in a loud brave voice ‘you are all welcome to come back to the house’. The wailing women was still crying, uncontrollable, perhaps the dreadful truth had finally hit her.
I don’t remember what they fought over, all I know is that on that night, the night he decided he could take no more, that his life was futile, he wrote a few notes, delivered a birthday card to a friend. Later we found out that it said ‘remember me as I was’. That night, he placed the noose around his neck and stepped off the chair. I don’t know what the sound would have been, in my imagination, I can hear a crack and a gurgle as the breath died in his throat, but I don’t know really. Did he in his final moments wish he could step back on the chair, now just out of reach.
All I know is that on that day, I went to my very first funeral; I stood at the open grave of a beautiful man, dead before his time, listening to a great song, one which will never be the same again. A short while later, laying in my bed alone after yet another fight, cruel words still stinging my ears, I imagined that John was there saying once again ‘come on Dale’. He wasn’t of course, but it cheered me to think that he was there, he didn’t come again.
The following year I was passing the cemetery, it was a clear and still spring day, much like the day I went to my first funeral, my mind lost in other thoughts, my car pulled over as if by itself outside a small shop, I looked out of the window, freesias, innocence and friendship, in buckets. With a handful in my hands I walked across the road into the graveyard, I must have memorised where the grave was, counting the trees I wandered along the path, there he was on the left, where we had left him just over a year before, John. I laid the flowers down, no message, stared at the headstone, what could I say? No words came. With one backward glance I walked away, never to return. I didn’t go to another to another funeral for over 20 years.
As the lyrics Imagine there's no heaven, It's easy if you try started to fill the air, my heart was abruptly torn wide open, a deep searing pain filled the space between my breasts, my throat constricted as I swallowed hard, fighting back the hot tears that were starting to prick my eyes and roll down my pale cheeks. As the words Nothing to kill or die for hit my ears, the tears simply pored forth. In the background, somewhere, there was a wailing woman, her pain raw and obvious. It took sometime to realise who it was. It was her. The one he had died for.
My mind wandered back to my wedding day, John the only black face amongst what seemed to be hundreds of white friends, it was over 20 years ago and we weren’t so cosmopolitan then, so it was unusual. Oh he was so handsome, you just wanted to nibble him. He and several others looked gorgeous in white tuxedos, holding the bride, me high in the air, across their hands, squeals of laughter, as they tried to in unison to pick me up and hold me there as the photographer snapped us. I am sure I was quite light, some 2 stone lighter than today and without the laughter lines.
He DJayed that day, twice, playing my favourite songs, whilst everyone got wasted, it was a good day. I could see myself demanding he play Wonderland, laughing, he said ‘I know I know’. You see he always played it for me when I was in the clubs, he knew it was my song. He was best friends with Billy next door, so I often saw him and he would always laugh and say ‘come on Dale' when I fell out with what became my awful husband.
The final bars of the song And the world will live as one bought me back to the day. Click the music stopped. A deafening silence, suddenly filled by birdsong bought me out of my reverie. Shocked faces looked at each other, as John’s mum asked in a loud brave voice ‘you are all welcome to come back to the house’. The wailing women was still crying, uncontrollable, perhaps the dreadful truth had finally hit her.
I don’t remember what they fought over, all I know is that on that night, the night he decided he could take no more, that his life was futile, he wrote a few notes, delivered a birthday card to a friend. Later we found out that it said ‘remember me as I was’. That night, he placed the noose around his neck and stepped off the chair. I don’t know what the sound would have been, in my imagination, I can hear a crack and a gurgle as the breath died in his throat, but I don’t know really. Did he in his final moments wish he could step back on the chair, now just out of reach.
All I know is that on that day, I went to my very first funeral; I stood at the open grave of a beautiful man, dead before his time, listening to a great song, one which will never be the same again. A short while later, laying in my bed alone after yet another fight, cruel words still stinging my ears, I imagined that John was there saying once again ‘come on Dale’. He wasn’t of course, but it cheered me to think that he was there, he didn’t come again.
The following year I was passing the cemetery, it was a clear and still spring day, much like the day I went to my first funeral, my mind lost in other thoughts, my car pulled over as if by itself outside a small shop, I looked out of the window, freesias, innocence and friendship, in buckets. With a handful in my hands I walked across the road into the graveyard, I must have memorised where the grave was, counting the trees I wandered along the path, there he was on the left, where we had left him just over a year before, John. I laid the flowers down, no message, stared at the headstone, what could I say? No words came. With one backward glance I walked away, never to return. I didn’t go to another to another funeral for over 20 years.
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