I cannot believe it's been 25 years since John Lennon was died. (For whatever reason, on the first draft I said shot. I guess I still have to come to terms that he is indeed dead, because he still feels so alive to me.) That realization got me thinking of how little I have progressed in my own life. I won't bore you with details because the last thing you need to read are the rantings of a bipolar middle-aged woman.
However, John still gives me hope. And I still miss him.
I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing when I heard the news that he had died. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, having just got home from my night course at college. I had heard John had been shot while on was on the bus. When I got home, I turned on the radio and the DJ said John had been shot in front of the Dakota, and they the station would keep updating us as then news came on. Then they started playing "When I'm 64". Midway through the song, there was dead air for about 10 seconds and "Imagine" started playing. The DJ didn't have to say that John had died.
The next day at school someone had organized a memorial at the flag pole. At noon we all gathered. Nobody really knew what to do or who was in charge. Then someone started to sing "Imagine". Soon everyone was singing, and when "Imagine" ended, someone else started singing "I want to hold your hand". So around the flagpole were about 75 people, all crying and singing off tune.
And then life went on.
John lived his life as he wanted to, and that is what we should all so, if only we had the courage.
Bagism lives on.
