In memory of Uncle Steve

Ruth Weal — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 22:27:09 +0000

School boy Uncle Steve - Copyright R.Weal 2010

Today I’m dedicating my blog post to my Uncle Stephen, better known to those who loved him as Steve. He would have been 60 today, but sadly died 20 years ago this March just passed, not quite making 40.

Uncle Steve was a remarkable man because when he was a teenager he developed Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and was not expected to survive. He spent much of his mid to late teens in hospital fighting for his life, but against the odds he survived and went on to become a truly inspirational influence in my young life.

I’m exceptionally grateful that he lived through his childhood trauma and greatly saddened that it came back to take him far too early when I was just a girl of 14 and he only 39. He fought with such courage and passion for life, but he was a sacred gift right from the beginning and his time with his family sadly ran out. I hope that wherever he is right now he’s bringing a bit of the joy and happiness that he brought to me and my family.

He was such a positive person, he didn’t let a day go by where he didn’t live it to the fullest. He wasn’t obsessed with material wealth and the transitory things in life, family, friends and enjoying his life were of foremost importance.

Maybe it was because he had a brush with death at such a young age, but I think mainly it was down to his positive personality and zest for life that he was such an inspiration and joy to spend time with. He was always available to me and I cannot recall one day when he didn’t have a smile for me!

Uncle Steve and Ruth - Copyright R.Weal 2010

He didn’t have a high powered job, he prized having time to visit the beach, play badminton and squash as far more important than being tied to a desk job! He was a drinks machine repairman, which allowed him to travel all over the south of England. I remember all the Radio 1 roadshow t-shirts he collected as he visited the roadshows whilst out working on the road.

He loved his music and even though I was probably a very annoying young girl at times he was always happy to let me sit in his bedroom and choose what music we would listen to next. He must have gotten very bored every time I wanted to put on Jeff Wayne’s musical version of War of the Worlds. I remember the day he first got Michael Jackson’s Thriller album - I felt so grown up as he let me put the tape into his ghetto blaster and I recall clinging to him as I heard the Vincent Price rap for the first time.

Up a tree with Uncle Steve and Dad - Copyright R.Weal 2010

He always bought me the coolest presents, he really understood my artistic leanings and went out of his way to support and cultivate it in me. Always buying me pencils, pens, paints and art materials and spoiling me with books that I devoured almost as quickly as he bought them for me.

My Dad and Uncle Steve were instrumental in shaping my love of music. Listening to music in his room whilst they made their wine are some of my fondest memories.

I remember just before Christmas when I was 11, Uncle Steve spent an afternoon getting me to listen to loads of tapes in his bedroom, asking me which songs I liked best. I had no idea why he was doing it, but it was one of the best memories of my childhood. That Christmas I got my first walkman and guess what I had in my stocking? Two back to back recorded tapes with Tina Turner’s Private Dance, Michael Jackson’s Thriller, Go West’s debut album Go West and a Paul Young Compilation.

I think I was more impressed with the tapes than I was with the walkman! Some people perhaps would have preferred to have new tapes bought for them, but my family wasn’t exactly well off. Aside from that, the fact he had taken the time to first find out what I would like and then record them personally for me, going to the trouble of writing out each song neatly on the covers was very special to me even then. I played those tapes over and over until they ceased to work.

Uncle Steve as I remember him best - Copyright R.Weal 2010

As a young girl I was very much the tom boy, preferring to spend time with my Dad and Uncle Steve doing things traditionally associated with boys! I loved climbing the tree in the back of my Nan’s garden and helping my Dad out with his carpentry (my bottom has held down numerous pieces of wood that my Dad was sawing).

Then there was the wine making – my Dad and Uncle Steve made wine pretty much throughout my childhood and I have fond memories of helping to crush the fruit, prepare the corks, washing the bottles and going out to pick the fruit. They used to take an almost sadistic pleasure in getting me to taste the wine, knowing how much I disliked the taste and every year I was duped into believing it would taste better this time. I never did develop a palate for wine! Those days were magical to me and I hold those memories very close to my heart.

Uncle Steve and Dad at my parents wedding - Copyright R.Weal 2010

My Uncle Steve was my Dad’s best friend, his best man at his wedding and godfather to his first born – me. The two of them had such fun together it was impossible not to enjoy yourself when we were together. Whether it was picking fruit, walking along the canal in Bradford on Avon, driving down to Studland beach and so many family holidays together that I cannot begin to recount the wonderful memories.

I feel exceptionally privileged to have been a part of my Uncle Steve’s life and I know that my family was never the same after he died, but the memories we all carry of him brighten our lives infinitely and I hope that just a little of him magic will rub off here on you!

I hope that you’ve enjoyed my trip down memory lane with my pictures and recollections, it has been a warming and happy experience for me. Below are a couple of poems that I wrote about my Uncle Steve a number of years back, it seemed fitting now to share them here with you on the 60th anniversary of his birth.

Happy 60th b.day Uncle Steve, wherever you are I hope you are happy and well!

Wealie x

: Two little boys in bed Steve & Malc Copyright R.Weal 2010

YOU LEFT ME

It seems like only yesterday, and yet the years have slipped by so effortlessly, I am no longer the girl you left behind, I am both infinitely more and less. I wonder did you ever understand the effect your life had upon me, I wonder did you love me the way I loved you? You left me.

You never said goodbye, you never gave me words of wisdom to live by. You left my life with nothing to say, I had so much anger, such feelings of betrayal and hate. I thought I had left them behind me, put them in their rightful box, but on a threshold I stand and these feelings back in my hands. You left me.

Wealie with her favourite Uncle - Copyright R.Weal 2010

I haven’t visited you for a while, I know why, because to you I cannot lie. You saw into my heart and pulled out the truth, you understood a little bit what it meant to be Ruth. But you left me without a reason why, left me to turn inward and cry. You left me.

The pain of your loss consumed me, it ate at my soul and since the day of your passing I have never been whole. So I learned to embrace pain, to make suffering my fate. Trust, love, devotion all words I grew to hate. You left me.

I looked out over the abyss hoping to find you on the other side, but you were not there. I saw only nothing, it just wasn’t fair. I know you are here with me, I feel you by me all the time, but just once more I would wish to know your hand holding mine. You left me.

What pains me most I cannot cure, for since you left me I can only love you more. And now at my threshold you push me forward, I hear you call me coward, but can I really afford to lose any more of my soul, I’m not sure I am strong enough to face feeling even less whole. You left me.

Ruth Weal
2.17am 30 April 1998
Copyright R.Weal 1998 ©

For Stephen Colin Weal

The three Weal brothers, Ade, Steve & Malc - Copyright R.Weal 2010

BASKING

The sun has risen high today and the air is filled with the scent and taste of heat. The breeze whispers in suggestive tones as I lay here at the bottom of the garden, in the place where my uncle used to bask in the reflective glow of the sun, worshipping its light in thanks for seeing another day.

He was at peace here, between the shed and the greenhouse, the sun kissing his face, the wind caressing his back. And now it is I, between what is left of the shed and the rubble that was the greenhouse, looking up at a tree so bold and beautiful that was a meek and mild sapling that my sister had planted.

Things change and yet remain the same; someone will always be basking in the kiss of the sun and the caress of the wind. Things are born, age and die and now I see the sapling oak that my father has planted and I wonder when it grows strong and tall what history it will have seen….

Ruth Weal
18 June 2000 03.15 am
Copyright R.Weal 2000 ©

IF ONLY YOU COULD SEE ME NOW

Five, nearly six long years
Five summers have been born and died
Yet another begins to rise
The sun your everlasting companion still rises and falls
Though it mourns your loss
Duty still calls
Days, weeks, months go by and you’re free from my mind
Then thoughts of you ram me like a lightening bolt
A mind felt pain that pulses through my soul
And a part of me realises
I shall never be whole
You were my mentor, my first great love
I’m still so angry
So violently mad
I know that you are safe
I know I should be glad
But still inside it hurts so bad
Why you?
Who made the decision?
Why did they decide it should be you?
I want some answers and I want them now
But I don’t know where to look
And I don’t know how
I wish that I could tell you what I’m feeling tonight
Wish that that you could hold me when I’m gripped by fright
Life isn’t as easy with you not here
Without your support there seems so much more to fear
If only you could see me now
I hope that I have made you proud
I know that you love me
And the distance between us isn’t really that far
For that special place in my heart
My soul, my being, belonging to you
An everlasting replay of the special times we shared
I just wanted to remind you that I still cared….

Ruth Weal, June 1999
Copyright R.Weal 2000 ©

For Uncle Steve
All my love, I miss you
Ruth
xxxx

With a glance he remembered

Ruth Weal — Sun, 26 Sep 2010 00:54:03 +0000

A few years back I really got into using flickr not just as a repository and showcase for my photography, but as a community that I felt a vibrant part of. This had a side benefit of inspiring creativity in me through the work of others.

The poem “With A Glance He Remembered” is one of these inspired creations and the topic of this post. It was inspired by the picture below – Still Saying Goodbye by one of my first and very best flickr contacts Waking Dream, who went on to become a great friend too.

The picture is from Waking Dream’s 365 days project, where you take a self portrait for each day of a whole year and upload them to flickr. I hope you enjoy my poem and that you take a moment to explore Waking Dream’s photostream, you won’t regret it!

With A Glance He Remembered

With a glance he remembered
In his heart they will always remain
With a sigh he hankered for all that he had lost
In his soul the love that he holds in trust
With a photo he marked their pasting
In him the sweet memories everlasting
With a moment he sought release
And with a tear he made his peace

For Skip – Who inspired this little piece with his pic “Still Saying Goodbye”

Convergence (A Self Portrait)

Ruth Weal — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 23:16:45 +0000

This is one of my older paintings and has a lot of meaning for me. I painted it during the dark days after my Grandmother died when it was too painful to write, too painful to be around anyone, too painful to leave the house. Convergence, Confluence and Overload of the Senses were the outlet for my grief, a purging of the pain and a means to finding my way back to myself in some way.

Convergence was my longest “straight through creation”, i.e. I painted it over 48 hrs without sleeping or leaving the house (I did snack and have loo breaks though). Of the three paintings I created after Nan died this was the one that brought me the most resolution and peace. Symbolic of all the ties of the people I love in my life and the convergence of all their love weaving into the pattern that makes up me.

In a way that I did not quite understand until I viewed it again lately it is an emotional self portrait of my thoughts and feelings.

It was with great happiness that I gave this painting in particular to one of the most important women in my life (my very good friend and sister of my soul), Lisa. It hangs in pride of place in her bathroom and it’s nice to know that something born in my grief and pain has brought her joy.

I never took a pic of it before I gave it to Lisa (I never really have of my paintings). I used to be exceptionally self-conscious of this medium of my artistic outlet and don’t by any means consider myself to be a painter and artist. My technique is sloppy at best, but I find a certain sense of peace when I paint. Where writing wrings from me the emotions, taking me to great highs and lows, leaving me elated and drained, painting is the opposite. Painting grounds me, fills me with the scent of the colours, mesmerises me with the shapes and lines my mind would have me follow and leads me to my centre and peace. I should probably paint more often (grin).

In days gone by I have merely thrown away my canvases after a few weeks and never thought to share them with anyone until the likes of Lisa complained at the idea.

Well Lisa now has another two of my paintings and true to form I gave them to her before photographing them, so I went to her house with camera in hand and finally photographed Convergence too.