Death. We can only really think of it as a slow progression to a foggy, if not unconscious, end. An end we can’t really believe, because end has always meant the end of one thing and the start of another.
But sometimes this end is unexpected. Sudden. Shocking. Violent. 26 years ago, John Lennon was shot. A young guy, a fan, walked up to him at the front door of his apartment building and shot him. Twice. A suddenly violent end for someone who had always sung about love. Or, peace. Or, imagination. John, too much a part of us all to call Lennon, was with Yoko. They had been inseparable, with the exception of the lost weekend or whatever they call it, for 12 years. Companions, collaborators, man and wife. An island of two in a sea of hype, flashbulbs, and gossip.
They were walking home, returning from recording what would become the songs, Just Like Starting Over and Grow Old With Me. Our life together is so precious together, We have grown, God bless our love. These are just some of the lyrics. The meaning, the emotion was not of a moon in June, but an unadorned feeling of joy, gratitude, and love. Not a story, not just lyrics that rhymed, but a personal statement of something between two real people, artists, who having lived it and made it a part of themselves, wanted to share this with the world.
Starting over, they were looking forward. Grow old with me – this was a hope, a realization of the preciousness of life, an acceptance and appreciation of something real and beautiful. But then death interrupted, violently. Senselessly and yet unbelievably real. A split second unalterably changing the course of many things.
And, for us, it had a different meaning. It was a collective experience, though of a similar sadness. It was a reminder of the delicate hold we have on life. Each step on the Earth a fragile gift, a momentary possibility, a starting over, a deep desire to grow old together, hoping the end will arrive in good time, after we realize we have had it all.
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