a day in the life (never to be)
Everyone is noticing today would have been John Lennon’s 70th birthday. He died when he was 40, which is the age I am now. I vividly remember where I was when I heard the news that day, oh boy. On the highway in a car, my mother driving near the airport. Slate rain was falling when they broke in on a song, the DJ’s voice cracked with pain, I saw the clouds split by a plane and the world was never the same. Just the week before my dad was talking about how Lennon was a jerk because he wouldn’t get back together with the other Beatles. It echoed in my mind and I felt bad for having agreed with my dad. I was eleven years old. I understand Lennon as a person much better now. Now, at 40, I could see why he wouldn’t want to be dragged back into doing something he had just quit barely ten years earlier, especially when everything was going so nicely. But then, as he sang on the album I had bought the day before he had died, life is what happens while you’re making other plans. Everyone dies, everyone gets a lifetime and no more. Everything is temporary; not even strawberry fields are forever.