I saw this movie today on Jessica’s blog and I had to ‘blognap’ it and post it here. In her post Jessica commented that she wished “every woman could see this.” I would go one further and say I wish everyone who has ever felt too fat, too thin, too pale, too spotty, too short, too tall, too anything, could see this.

You might also want to watch this movie too.

—

Quicktime version
Quicktime version of the other movie
The Campaign For Real Beauty

I’m back at home now. I’ve unpacked my luggage from my American trip and been to the store and stocked up on food and wine. I’ve visited my leisure club an hour before closing and sat there in the sauna alone letting the heat hold me still for a few minutes before floating around the deserted pool like a tethered astronaut suspended in space. I’ve had a bowl of pasta drenched in a rich tomato sauce and covered in a blanket of melted cheese, perfect food for thought as I sat on my couch looking out to the leaves that are changing color on the tree outside.

Life’s been moving pretty fast in the last few weeks. I don’t mind the speed life goes most of the time. But every so often I need to throw a line out there and have someone reel me in for just a few moments. It’s important to be able to just sit on the shore sometimes and catch your breath before you dive back into the surf.

Tonight, at 3am I needed to throw a line and have someone at the other end grab it. I’m thankful that I have an army of people around the world I can throw lines to knowing that they’ll catch them and pull me in. Thank you to Susan in Mississippi tonight for being there. She’s a lady that understands loss in more ways than most and more ways than I’m sure she wishes to. But tonight, as England dreamed of somewhere other than tomorrows working day, Susan listened to me and talked in her musical voice that sounds as calming as a mountain stream. She was my port in a storm and as we said goodbye I just found myself wanting to say thank you not only to her, but to the list of people out there whom I have counted on to be a port in a storm, a calm voice when everyone else is screaming.

I’m surrounded by great people who constantly show me that even the longest days can have great sunsets. – Thank you guys!

When someone dies any language seems to fall short of the truth behind the words we choose. Sorry doesn’t seem to cut it, but anymore is just a variation on the same theme. Death is the cruelest inevitability, and despite its absolute certainty the reality of death is never easy to cope with or express sympathy for.

Last week my brothers wife, Kate, suffered a brain hemorrhage and died suddenly and unexpectedly. The couple had been married for little over two years. I was in Colorado when it happened.

When Pete emailed me and told me he had “some bad news” I assumed he was about to tell me that our grandmother had passed away. She’s an old lady suffering from emphysema, so as cruel as it might seem, I felt that she was most likely going to be the subject of the bad news he wanted to speak to me about. But then I picked up another email, written by Pete a few hours later in which he told me that Kate had died suddenly and would I please call him.

I scrabbled for my phone just as it began to ring. “Pete?” I answered. “No, it’s Will. Has your brother managed to reach you yet?” Confused and in a state of shock I said that he hadn’t and that I needed to call him. I correctly assumed that Pete had contacted my friend Will to find out how to get hold of me in the States. Moments later the phone rang again and this time it was my brother.

Yesterday was her memorial service. We had all hoped the weather would be kind on the day and give us some October sun, but in the end it was overcast and rainy. At one point in the service a KT Tunstall track called ‘Other side of the world’ was played. As it played I looked around the ancient church and at the large and colorful stained glass windows. For a moment I felt like this was an episode in some TV drama where life moves at TV speed and where characters come and go as quickly as Kate has. The words of the song echoed around the ancient church. “Can you help me? Can you let me go? And can you still love me, When you can’t see me anymore.” And as Pete wept I wished this wasn’t happening.

I didn’t know Kate as well as I thought I would. I live a long way from my family so I don’t often get a chance to see them. I figured I’d have more time to get to know her. She was my sister-in-law, so that meant I would have the rest of my life to learn who she was, there was no rush. I thought Kate would be there to grow old and wrinkled along side my brother and the rest of us until the days when we all stood in the company of death.

She’ll be forever beautiful now, locked in the image of the 38 year old woman she had become.

And now my attention is turned to my brother. I have no idea how he must be feeling nor any experience that will help me to be the support I want to be for him at this time. Instead all I have is the the fact that tonight and in these darkest of days for him, we are and will forever be… brothers. I’m hoping that will be enough.

—

Don’t wait written by my brother in Kate’s memory.

Well I’m back in the UK after more than a month in the States. I arrived yesterday but was utterly thrown by jet-lag so I just went to bed. I awoke at silly o’clock this morning in total confusion as to where the heck in the world I was. It actually was really quite unnerving for about a minute.

My luggage has been lost again so I am luggageless once more. The lost luggage call centre told me in Indiglish that my lugge would be “arriving this morning thank you.” That would have been reassuring had it not been 12:50pm when they told me that. Eventually I managed to get through the the courier company who couldn’t locate my luggage and later I learned that they have also now lost it in Wales!

This might not be as bad had I not needed to repack my stuff and head to Essex where I’m going to be on hand for my brother for the next few days as his wife died suddenly last week. It seems so strange to write that, I never thought I’d be writing that kind of sentance until we were both old men. I find myself cursing the fact we live so far away from one another. In American terms we’re not far at all, but as anyone who has driven in the UK will tell you, the 250 miles between us is much different to 250 American road miles due to the motorways and traffic that will be on them. It’s easily a six hour drive.

I still have a couple of posts from my trip to make that will include some pictures. I’ll post them here retrospectively.