Last night some kind friends took us to a concert. It was a tribute act for Billy Fury. (A great and popular singer in the sixties and seventies who left us way too soon.) The backing group and main singer took to the stage and were applauded politely by the (rather senior) audience. The show got underway – telling the story of the life of Billy Fury through song and with movie reels, and was both enjoyable and moving – reminding us of an era which is gone but not forgotten.
Whilst sitting in the auditorium listening and reminiscing, I started thinking about time; about what happened to the intervening years that took me from being a wannabe flower child to a mature woman with nine grandchildren! And how did some of the pop stars with often risqué performances I revered in my youth become sensible chaps with cardigans?
Time slips by as we all know. As we are often told, we need to treasure every moment. Sometimes life throws a spanner in the works but I do my best to enjoy life and be thankful for so many of the wonderful blessings I have been given. Ageing can be something some us struggle to come to terms with and I can only hope that I face it with grace and fortitude but also that life treats me kindly.
I recently watched a program tracing the lives of people who have died and left no known relatives. The programme is always very poignant and I watch as various lives unfold on the screen – sometimes they are people who have not had anyone to care for them or no living relatives, sometimes they feature people who have lived a reclusive life or fallen on hard times. The feeling of loneliness and sadness seems to prevail; yet often the people are highly spoken of by those who had looked after or met the people concerned. Sometimes distant relatives are traced and express sadness or remorse for not having had contact with them. But sometimes the people concerned seemingly had no one in the world to call their own. A heartbreaking thought. One particular lady who had died had lived for some time in a care home. The staff spoke kindly of her and mentioned that they sometimes took the inpatients on a trip out. Whenever this particular lady was asked where she would like to go she always chose the local garden centre. She loved plants and would bring some back and plant them in the garden at the care home. She was a lovely lady by all accounts and yet seemed to have no friends or relatives who visited. I often think about her when I go to the garden centre now and I wish I could have known her. I like to think her memory lives on in a lovely flower garden somewhere.
It is always good when someone leaves a legacy, be it small or large, flowers or music, love and gentleness. So I say : ‘Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for the music,’ to those who have gone before.
Blessings to you.