It’s his birthday tomorrow. He would have been turning 61. I now haven’t seen him for 15 years and I haven’t spoken to him in 8 years. I’d like to think he’d be saying “about fucking time!” with me studying at uni.
Happy Birthday for tomorrow bro. The world has always been less of everything without you in it. 😔❤️
UPDATE: In this week of creative writing, we being asked to keep a Writer’s notebook and carry it around for the next few days and to jot things down. I added this to it just a few moments ago…
Well, I have to say, there was an incredible amount of interactivity from Mr Kerr today on Facebook! It was lovely, albeit not really anything for me personally.
Perhaps my own grief was hitting me a lot harder than I imagined? Because…I’m just dealing with it now. Trying not to have it feel like “rejection”. Applying all the logical things I should do to help to “not take it personally” – I am just one fan in many – and JUST A FAN … just … a fan – to him. He can’t show any kind of favouritism (but to be honest, it didn’t seem to stop him years back, that one)…etc, etc.
But a few months back, it was REALLY hurting. But I think it really was just grief for mum making it feel much worse. I guess because of last time I was in Oz, she was alive, I was doing the art…all of that converged. Jim was wonderful to me.
I suppose I was just wanting to reach out – WAS reaching out…but he was going through his own grief. I naively hoped that maybe it would mean that…affinity…the kind of kinship I was feeling last time in Oz I hoped would return “when I needed him”.
I was feeling like…I dunno, like he HATED me. Hoping for something at the Scottish Music Awards. Mum had passed just days before, on Charlie’s birthday. I was hoping for just a look…something. I was up in the rafters anyway. He probably didn’t even know where I was. His da wasn’t long passed, either. Selfish of me.
I was okay out in Oz, surrounded by friends and family. In spite of the circumstances – and the adverse weather conditions when I was out there, it was good to be home. I felt horrendously displaced though. Every time I travelled towards the city and then back again to my sister’s or to Gwenda’s, and the train went through Liverpool station, it felt strange not to be getting off the train there. There would be this kind of questioning inner voice “why aren’t we stopping here? Aren’t we going to see mum?” Like the previous time back home, when I was with her and I kept waiting for David to call, or to just walk in through the door.
I don’t think the grief started to hit until I got back here to Glasgow…and I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t think I felt it. Because you’re not there. You’re not around physically to be impacted upon with the loss.
My sister had arranged an open coffin at the funeral. I found it really incredibly upsetting. I didn’t want my last memory of mum to be lying dead in a coffin! I didn’t even want to look, really, but with family around me and them all going in…what was I meant to do? I stood there. I stood by her but…I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t do things that my sister was doing…stroking her face, giving her a kiss. Her in the coffin was my first physical interaction (short of touching her) with her in over 3 years. I just don’t think I wanted that to be my end with her.
And it isn’t what David wanted me to experience with him. He implored me to stay here and not go back home to see him. It meant the last time I saw him was in 2007. And the last pictures I saw of him was when he still looked healthy – at his son’s wedding almost three years earlier. I didn’t see photos of how he looked in the months and weeks before he passed away. I never have. My memory of him is how he wished for it to be for me.
This is becoming maudlin central because – I wanted to explain that I am starting to…feel okay…and try not to give so many fucks, and learn not to “take it personally”.
I sound a fool, I know…but I adore this man. Jim felt like he gave me my life back…or at least made me feel like I could finally find purpose in why I was here. And…frigging hell…I had been searching for that for such a long time! Beyond the silly ogling and finding him physically attractive… He felt like…a saviour. I know! But it felt that profound.
So for a time there has been this…thing where…the interaction was amazing and I felt – most likely in a rather delusional way – an affinity, a kinship…call it what you will…just “liked” by Jim. And then things will die away and I would suddenly start thinking “oh, I’ve done something wrong. He’s pissed off. Oh, what have I done? Oh, why won’t he say anything to me?”
Oh, God! I sound so fucking paranoid! But…this is what happens.
By Copenhagen…yeah. Certain things happened to alleviate that feeling a little but others didn’t help. Not the band’s fault, heck! But…the cancelling of the soundcheck was a bummer. To be able to see the two shows was ssooo great! And I thought I got some interaction from Jim – that he poked his tongue out at me and later gave me a wink…but how do you ever know? He could be winking and poking his tongue out at someone behind me or beside me. The only time I know for sure about things is one-to-one interactions. Stage doors at Bridlington and Drury Lane – him talking to me from the stage at Bristol – the meet and greet at Colchester. Anything else is wishful thinking.
Yet…that look he gave me near the end of the Copenhagen gigs, I have no doubt was for me. Lol. Silly that I try to convince myself that positive things from him MUST be for someone else, yet negative things are DEFINITELY for me.
It feels like it has been hardest of all these past few months, so I am guessing it’s the grief for mum playing the biggest part. These feelings cycle round. They have done for years now.
I guess I’m never gonna stop wanting to be his friend, so while that hope remains ever present, this cycle will continue.