In amongst the current political twatmongery, life and death carry on and this blog is in danger of specialising in obituaries.
My brother Elvis has died, at home, with family. Considering that since our mother died I only see him annually, I am feeling his loss sharply, although in this case I’m conflicted as I am also glad his pain has passed.
I can’t describe quite how I feel about the death of my first sibling.
As I write this I am aware that it may sound as if I have a list of relatives behind a picture, Kind Hearts and Coronets style, and I’m standing ready with a pen to cross them off as they croak.
I haven’t, I’m not, honestly.
It is a truth however, that Elvis is the first to go and there is a chance that I may outlive my other brothers and sister due to me being the baby of the family.
I don’t relish the thought of those potential future losses, I can’t imagine a world without Frenchie.
Elvis was many years older than me, I was three years old when he got married to Priscilla, a love match. Our disparate ages meant that our relationship was different to that of siblings close in age. As a child I was an irritant in a teenage household, we built a friendship much later in life.
Some of the things I loved about him were harder to find after his stroke, sometimes hidden, but I could still see him..
He had a great laugh, full throttle, contagious, much more suited to a Carry On movie than polite society, although I’m not sure that as a family our company was ever very polite.
Elvis was fun.
I will always be gladdened when I remember my first sight of him at our wedding, waiting to greet us, wearing a full Elvis outfit complete with a very good wig. The man before us was representative of an older Elvis, after he’d gained weight and in this instance, lost height. Unable to park near the register office due to the bombs that had gone off the day before, he had to walk some distance in costume. He caused a bit of a stir on the Euston Road. Drivers beeped, whistled and cat called, light relief after the previous morning’s terrorist attacks, they were delighted and he was delighted by their delight.
In theory he dressed up because he knew that I really wanted to be married by an Elvis impersonator, in Las Vegas. In theory he was bringing Vegas to Camden Town Hall. I know however, that he’d dress up in a costume with the flimsiest of excuses, but I’m still appreciative of the effort.
After this very successful Elvis outing, Elvis became his party outfit of choice.
I’ll miss how glad he was for visits, how he and Priscilla would make a fuss, take me to watch dolphins from the beach, visit stone age grave sites because I love them, and organise gatherings to keep me in the family loop.
Unlike me, he and my mother shared a strong religious faith, and they died sure of a better world to come.
How nice it would be if they were right.
fat tart 