Tears from Heaven

Collecting his bus pass today, unbelievably, is Slowand himself, Eric Clapton. As this fan site indicates, he shares his big day with Radio 2's Mr Walker, who has overcome great adversity himself in recent years. I don't suppose I will get round to listening to the show myself, but I wish Eric a happy day indeed. He's surely one of the most gifted guitarists of all time, whose performances on such classics as Leyla are legendary.
However, one of my favourite Eric Clapton tracks is one he now prefers not to perform. In 1991, he lost his 4 year old son Conor in a tragic accident when the boy fell from an apartment balcony. The loss of a child must surely be the worst bereavement of all, but as with all losses somehow time heals. Clapton wrote "Tears in Heaven" as a kind of musical catharsis for his grief back then, but 14 years on he feels that he does not want to play it so often. His love and grief for his lost son will always be there, but somehow he has learnt to move on and the pain is no longer so raw.

I was reminded of this song today particularly, albeit by changing the title just slightly. For the last couple of days, there has been that awful oppressive greyness coupled with spring rain. I should not normally complain about the latter- and if it helps to prevent the hosepipe bans which are already being touted, so much the better.
Right now however it is the last sort of weather I want as it only magnifies the sorrow and sadness within as we continue to mourn my Mum. I need some more of the warm, yellow stuff, just as we had in the week following my Dad's death in 1999.
Somehow, spring sunshine sheds new light and hope on everything, and particularly as we continue to celebrate this Eastertide. I was thinking last night of how much this home means to me at this time of year in particular, looking out at the evening skyscape over to the west and the sun setting over Heathrow, or waking to it in the morning from my bedroom window. It may be the same sun in the same sky, but it is never quite the same in Eastbourne.
But no sign or hope of sun today, though the forecast does show the hope of some sunny intervals tomorrow and then a brighter weekend- no April fooling here. No doubt then my thoughts will turn to "All in the April Evening", that wonderful old spiritual song which always comes to my mind at this time of the year. I don't favour the idea of a fixed Easter, but somehow it always seems more natural to have Easter in April and that is one of the most special months for me. This year however, I will probably see it in a different light entirely.
Before I can get into any "enjoyment" of April evenings, however, there is the trauma of Mum's funeral to get through. Matthew and I went down to the funeral directors this morning and I wondered whether the tears might start flowing then. Somehow, when you have to undertake this horrible task it really brings home the reality of the situation. Matthew dealt with all the formalities of registering the death yesterday, and collecting Mum's few effects, such as they were, from the hospital.

Neither of us feel that we want to see Mum in a chapel before the funeral. It won't be our Mum we see but some shell which is the earthly part of her no longer needed for the moment. Instead, I want to remember her smiles which she still managed to make even up until very recently although she was probably feeling great sadness inside. Somehow, having to look through a brochure to choose a coffin is a somewhat surreal experience and suddenly all those junk mail brochures for pointless products don't seem so bad. I can understand why people cling to the reassuring things of this material world.
As I write, we still haven't got a time and date for the service: our minister is currently away at the Methodist holiday come conference "Easter People" of which I have many fond memories during its early days myself. We won't be able to finalise a date and time until he is able to let us know of his availability- he won't be back til Saturday, although I hope to have the details finalised before then. Part of me even wishes or wonders that I could be down there in Torquay this week, finding new inspiration and ideas to serve the Lord I love so much. However, it was not to be this year.
Strangely, though, getting back to those tears, I haven't really been able to shed any so far- maybe I won't. This in no way devalues the loss I feel, or the sorrow. Maybe it is just that I have shed them inwardly for a long time.
Nevertheless, seeing my brother Matthew running a hand under his nose as we dealt with the arrangements, masking his feelings, made me realise that clearly he mourns more than he lets on. But maybe the tears are coming more FROM Heaven- as Mum and indeed Dad look on at us and care as much as ever, see us suffering for the moment. But there will be joy, there will be new opportunities and there will be chances to smile again. It is often said that death gives meaning to life, and what a life Mum lived. She fitted much into her eighty years, and it is that I want to smile about and contemplate, as we plan her thanksgiving service. Music was so much Mum's life for so long. So, rather than tears in Heaven, no doubt there will be smiles and applause, as now they hear a new star and a new voice. And maybe Conor Clapton too will be in the audience, along with the Risen Jesus who is our hope and reminds us that death is not the end but a glorious new start.