A year later..

So it was year yesterday since my brother died. I’ve been a bit more wobbly about it than I expected to be really. I don’t normally do anniversaries very well – good or bad. Firstly, I just don’t remember things well. To be honest, I’m never that keen on putting aside a special day to remember anyone. I sort of think that if you are resonably sensitive and in touch with the person then everyday things will bring them to mind and then you respond accordingly. For instance, I came across this on t’Internet

This was from a programme called “An Audience with Victoria Wood” All those years ago, it was the first chance we had to see a Victoria Wood stand-up and Dave and I were big fans. Trouble was, we were due to go out that night. So, we set the video. Our new video. Checked it twice, gave it a start time of ten minutes early and a finish of ten minutes late, like you used to do in those days – just to make sure and off we went.
When we got back, we got a brew, sat down to watch the programme and were devastated when after about 15 minutes it stopped. It didn’t seem to have recorded. Dave started fiddling with the wires and the connection and I shouted Mum in case she had noticed any problems.
When she came in she greeted us with the news that she thought that there was something wrong with the recorder. Well we knew that but why was she so sure?
“Well, ” she explained ” When I came in it was making a sort of whirring noise and I didn’t like the sound of that so I unplugged it.”
“Mum! It’s making a noise because its recording! The little wheels go round on the tape see??!”
Unrepentant and unimpressed she said. “Well no-one told me. It’s your own fault.”
We never let her forget it and for years after that whenever we had set anything to record we would shout
“Mum, I’ve set the video. It will make a noise. Do not switch off, evacuate the house or call the emergency services ok?”
I guess you had to be there but it’s the little memories like these that are the fabric of our relationships. It’s often the little joys and the sorrows that we miss when people are gone. Like most people who have lost someone, I am grateful for the shared times and then I’m angry that, this side of heaven there won’t be any more. We grew up together. We had plenty of differences, all of which we sorted because we loved each other and we had such a deep rooted life history. Not that we came to agree on everything because we didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter somehow. Not when the will was there to make it work. Not when you could remember laughing together at your Mum and her aversion to technology together – after you had got over the urge to kill her.
So now I move on. Not to forget but because life is too precious not to.


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