In the past ten months I have thought more than I expected
and written down less than I wanted.
Soon this Blog will be the home of other people, my dear partner and our
two intriguing children. Having spent a
total of three weeks in their company since August 2011, I've been in the
position of living inside a situation where our relationship has been mostly in
my head, rather than out in the world in front of us. Living by myself has, in some senses at
least, diminished me. I have had the
identity of husband, father, teacher without as much of the actuality that
usually accompanies such titles.
But that wouldn't make me different or special, two
conditions that are frequent aspirations for the majority of us. Most of us strive to put our mark on the
world around us, with varying degrees of success. Some of us are inept at making an impression,
some of us make an impression, but not the one we wish to make. Being the wrong person in the wrong place is
the most frequent cause of failing to impress.
Being wrong is more often what we achieve. Perhaps if we could hear what the others say
after we're gone, then we'd learn something valuable.
Nearly two years ago now we lost James to cancer. I want to try and explain my brother to you. It's taken me more than his absence to
realize who he was. It has taken me the
time to realize how it is I exist too.
My brother can't be properly understood without his being on
hand to agree or disagree with my observations.
This is why I don't offer this as a definitive view, only aspects of his
life as it intersected with mine. It
also enables me to have the last word, something that was rare enough around
him, the acknowledged master of the sign off line.
James was my friend in the simplest sense of the word. He was someone whose good pinion I
valued. Having his respect and approval
made my self-image more defined and secure.
I sometimes wonder if in the early years of our conscious relationship,
when we became more than brothers, he filled a mentoring role. In some ways he was my coach, which is
perhaps what a big brother can really achieve.
In any case, we certainly ended up more like each other than I would
have expected, looking back at the separations of school, age and career. Although who we are is always our own
responsibility, the people we invite into our lives can have the strongest
influence on who it is we aspire to be.
But we always leave our own fingerprints on the record. Jamie loved landscape and he involved himself
in it with walking and photography. I
have a similar fascination, but mine is different although we both loved
Derbyshire and the deserts of the American southwest. He loved music, as do I, but again, we ended
up living in different parts of the musical landscape. No one gets to be a simple clone of their
influences, unless they resign their individuality to be a pawn of another's intent
and a pale echo at that.
All the years of talk, shared experience and love have made
me into who I am and my ties to my beloved brother are just one part of that
web. To offer you an analogy, it is as
if whilst we all live in our individual caves between our ears, who we are is
as much who others perceive us to be as who we elect to be ourselves. Shout and sing into the big outside and
listen to the echoes because they prove that we exist outside our own
lives. We exist as other peoples' memories
as much as we are the objects of their attention, which makes us the subjects
of our own verbs.
A dear friend of mine remarked that his death had left a big
James-shaped hole in my life. That was a
shrewd observation and one that has led to this memorial. For those of you who knew him, your memories
and his influences are as alive today as ever he was. Despite slipping away from his pain almost two
years ago now he lives in my life as much as ever he did, a reader, writer, thinker,
talker, organizer, traveler, listener, critic, advisor, wit, joker, raconteur, lover
of the senses, trees, cars, speed and the master of the apt comment. He is not really dead, he's just living in my
head, as he always has.
