I heard The Living Years by Mike and the Mechanics this afternoon.
Mike and the Mechanics is a British band who were together from 1985-1995 with a revival in 2010 till now. They released The Living Years in December of 1988. Both the musician who wrote the lyrics and the one who wrote the music had recently lost their father. The singer lost his father when he was eleven years old. The song stayed on the US Adult Contemporary Chart of four weeks. It also rose to number one in Canada and Australia as well. It was number two in the U.K. Apparently, it struck a nerve with a lot of people.
"Every generation blames the one before
And all of their frustrations come beating on your door.
I know that I'm a prisoner to all my Father held so dear.
I know that I'm a hostage to all his hopes and fears.
I just wish I could have told him in the living years.
Crumpled bits of paper filled with imperfect thought.
Stilted conversations I'm afraid that's all we've got.
You say you just don't see it. He says it's perfect sense.
You just can't get agreement in this present tense.
We all talk a different language talking in defense.
Say it loud, say it clear,
you can listen as well as you hear.
It's too late when we die
to admit we don't see eye to eye.
So we open up a quarrel between the present and the past.
We only sacrifice the future it's the bitterness that lasts.
So don't yield to the fortunes you sometimes see as fate.
It may have a new perspective on a different date.
And if you don't give up, and don't give in you may just be ok.
Say it loud, say it clear,
you can listen as well as you hear.
It's too late when you die
to admit we don't see eye to eye.
I wasn't there that morning when my Father passed away.
I didn't get to tell him all the things I had to say.
I think I caught his spirit later that same year.
I'm sure I heard his echo in my baby's new born tears.
I just wish I could have told him in the living years.
Say it loud, say it clear,
you can listen as well as you hear.
It's too late when we die
to admit we don't see eye to eye." The Living Years, Mike and the Mechanics, 1988.
My father, Jack L. Helms, Sr. died of lung cancer about the time Mike and the Mechanics were breaking up in 1995. I didn't cry at his funeral. But a few days later when I was back home The Living Years played on the radio in my car. I pulled to the side of the road and wept. You can't outrun grief.
When I was six years old my great aunt, aunt and my mother took my brother and me from Enterprise, Alabama to Chattanooga, Tennessee. We saw all the main attractions on Lookout Mountain--Rock City, Ruby Falls and the Incline Railway. We also saw the Confederama at the foot of the mountain. At Rock City they said I saw seven states from Lover's Leap, but it looked like a bunch of buildings and trees to me. I couldn't make out a single state. But I at least saw Tennessee, a state I had never seen before. Lookout Mountain by itself was an attraction I never forgot. I've lived here for the last thirty eight years. Now if I want to see Lookout Mountain I just walk out my front door. My very great aunt always let us buy souvenirs in the gift shops of the attractions. At the Confederama I bought a metal replica of a Civil War cannon. I kept that cannon on my bed until I dropped it on the floor and broke it when I was a teenager. At Rock City I bought a coonskin cap. When I came home from the trip sporting my coonskin cap, my father started calling me "Crockett." His last words to me at 102 Glenn Street, Enterprise, Alabama were "Crockett, you're a good nurse."
There are many aspects of The Living Years that apply to my father and me. Thankfully, there are other parts of the song that do not apply. We had not resolved all of our differences before he died, but we had resolved most of them. About ten years before he died, I was talking to a counselor about my anger and bitterness toward my father. I said to him, "The only way to talk to him is on his own terms. And all he does is fish and golf." And my counselor said, "Then I suggest you do some fishing and golfing." And so we did. It was like he had been waiting for me for a very long time. I took every opportunity to travel from here to Enterprise to fish and golf with my father. My brother joined us for many of those adventures and we made some marvelous memories together. I think that's one reason "The Living Years" struck me so deeply that afternoon, not because we left everything unsaid, but that we had said most of what needed to be said.
"I wasn't there that morning when my father passed away" applies to me. When we drove to Enterprise to see him he was not in critical condition so we had not taken any dress clothes with us. When it became apparent that he was about to die, we drove back home, a five hour drive, got our clothes and drove back down. By then he was gone. Did we make the right decision? We had already said "goodbye" and he died surrounded by his family. He did not die alone.
B.A. Robertson had many unresolved issues with his father when his father died. He wrote the lyrics to The Living Years from his own pain and grief. . In 1996 Burt Bacharach said, "The Living Years is one of the finest lyrics of the last ten years."
I grew up somewhat afraid of my father. The only physical abuse I suffered was in that he didn't "spare the rod" or "spoil the child". But I got him and that wrathful god of my childhood all mixed up. By the time I was in my thirties, I figured I was safe from both of them. When I finally mustered the courage to take beer on the boat, he just looked at it and laughed. And by then the hypocrisy of his cigarettes versus other human vices wasn't wasted on either one of us.
It was my mother who had called me to tell me the doctors had found a spot on Dad's lung and that it was malignant. In some ways, it was a gift of love that we all had a year and a half together knowing that he was going to die. I asked him if he was going to stop smoking and he said, "I don't see the point." But the best thing is that he didn't stop fishing and golfing either. At least not for quite a while.
"I'm sure I've heard an echo in my baby's newborn tears." We are involved with a family who have two children of their own and are foster parents for two more, a teenager and a one year old. We have been providing respite care for the one year old since he was a few days old. We love this little boy more than words can say. Several people have told me that he looks like me. Do I really think my father has come back in the person of this incredible little boy with whom I share no DNA? No, but stranger things have happened. Did you know that gravitational waves from deep space can sing?.Not only that but they prefer middle C.
"It's too late when you die." I owe a lifelong debt of gratitude to that counselor who admonished me to go fishing and golfing with my dad. We not only had the time of our lives, but we ate a lot of fish. But the fishing was never really been about the fish, was it. One afternoon on West Bay, Florida I asked my dad if he ever got tired of fishing. He reeled in his line, baited it with a shrimp, cast it back in the bay, propped his feet up, shook a Salem out of the pack, lit it and took a long draw, slowly exhaled the smoke, Looked all around at the sky and the bay. Looked over at me and asked, "What's there to get tired of?"
Could I regret that it took so long for us to look past our differences and learn to show our love for each other? Of course I could. But as Dad said, "I don't see the point." Instead I choose to be deeply grateful for the time that we had. It was enough.
My son and I don't go fishing, but we do golf from time to time. A while back on an incredibly beautiful San Diego morning we went golfing together. Although it was a sunny day in June, it was cool enough for me to wear a jacket. I don't golf as well as he does, but I held my own. At some point I just stopped and took in the lay of the land and the joy of spending time with my son. .And somewhere his grandfather was saying, "I love you too young man. I just wish I could have told you in the living years." "I wish you had too, Dad. But you didn't. Just like me, he forgave you a long time ago. Rest in peace Old Man. Rest in peace."
That little boy we love so much started his life in distress in the NICU of a local hospital. I'll be there early in the morning. The baby I will hold knows nothing of my father. She knows nothing of me. All I will have to offer her is my warmth-- my arms, my voice and my love. Our time together will be limited. Soon she will go to a permanent home. Our time will be limited, but I'll make the best of it. She may be the one who got away, but she'll take me with her. I'll see to that.
It's very important that we spend time with the dying, but the living are dying for our love. Love may not seem like much at times, but it's the best we have to give. And it's enough.
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