Sunday, 12 August 2012

Time like an ever rolling stream......

In the intercessionary prayers in church this morning, a special mention was made of the celebrated world-renowned concert organist, Carlo Curley.

He was a close friend of our own concert organist Donald Mackenzie, musical director at St. Mary's, and had performed in the church together with him less than a year ago.

As the service came to an end this morning Donald paid a tribute to his friend by playing his signature tune.

Carlo Curley was only 59, and he died yesterday.

Already in a fairly sombre mood, yesterday being the third anniversary of my husband's death, and today 12th August, my late mother's birthday, it struck me anew how commonplace the loss of a loved one is, and just how easily life moves on seamlessly.  The departed one having left scarcely a ripple.

At the time of  loss it feels as though life as such has lost all purpose, and a certain resentment is felt, at how quickly our seemingly overwhelming grief appears to have no impact on the world around us.  As time passes, along with a dulling of the sharp edges, a sort of philosophical "well it happens to everyone, no-one is  left untouched" takes its place.

Slowly for me at least comes the realization that we are indeed, great and famous, or humble and unknown, all equal in this one respect, as the gospel has it, "and the place that knew him shall no him no more".

Carlo Curley was famous, had many fans world-wide.  My John was known to only a few, but at the end of time they will have equal importance.

Rest in peace.


  1. I was shocked to learn of CC's death. When I was an organ scholar he was just making it big in the UK. I went to see/hear him several times [bumped into him once on a train] but he looked ill a couple of years ago, walked with a stick and didn't play so many virtuosic pieces (although that could have been the organ's fault - long story). I am saddened because figures in the organ 'world' who I knew are gradually passing away and it makes one realise that one is growing older. Once of my own teachers died aged 50.

    As you say, in death all are equal.

    Hugs to you; don't be sombre for long!

  2. You "bumped in to him once on a train" and lived to tell the tale? I'm surprised TS. He was ......large!
    Hugs returned with thanks.
    Sombre is pointless isn't it?

  3. How sweet, Ray. Having never lost a spouse I can only imagine the three year adjustment you've had to make. Yet having lost both mother (at 26) & father (at 16), I can sure understand how cruel is death.

    I've heard it said, and believe it's true: "The ground is level at the foot of the cross." I can think of no living "great" any more great than my loved ones, or yours.

    A hug,

  4. Absolutely Kathleen. Our loved ones will live in our minds as long as we survive, so in that way, they never die.
    We have to adjust but as our dear ones become fewer, so our memory bank becomes filled with riches.
    Losing your parents while you were still so young must have been very hard.
    Hugs to you.

  5. Some very perceptive thoughts, Ray. To the newly-bereaved it seems almost incomprehensible that the rest of the world goes on functioning regardless. I remember that feeling so well when my parents died. As you say, death is the great equaliser and in God's sight we all matter.

  6. It is a comfort to know that however alone we may feel, we still have real importance to God.
    I have always found the much-quoted phrase on (I think the tomb of the unknown soldier) "Known to God", very touching.