The book “Letters of John Keats” sits on a shelf in my bedroom and I read and reread passages from it almost every day. Keats only lived for 25 years (October 31, 1795 -February 23, 1821) yet he wrote some of the most beautiful poems and letters. During his short life his poetry was not well received by critics, but after his death he had a great influence on poets such as Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, (August 4, 1792 – July 8, 1822) another favorite of mine, lived to the age of 29, a short life, yet he was one of the major English Romantic Poets and is critically regarded among the finest lyric poets in the English Language.
In the field of music, Mozart (January 27, 1756 – December 5. 1791) lived to be only 35 and Chopin (March 1, 1810 – October 17, 1849) died at 39. Yet, even though they had such short lives, their music has lived on for centuries, and will probably continue to do so forever.
These are just four examples of how “A Short Life Can Be A Creative Life”, for the length of time on this earth has little correlation to what you do with your life. There are so many more men and women,in the past, present,and will be in the future, from whom we could learn. I bring these few creative artists to your attention to show that we can either spend our life whining about the hand we have been dealt, or we can go out into the world and make a difference.
My mother was one of the most creative people I have ever known, yet she only lived to be 36 – but what a busy and creative 36 years she had.
Born to Polish immigrants on a farm in Thorp, Wisconsin, my mother was one of 8 children, being the 6th child and the 4th girl in the family. She was the only girl to go to high school, and was on the Honor Roll each year.
She married at 17. I was born when she was 18 and my brother when she was 19. My brother was always very ill and she had to spend hours tending to his special needs. She, herself, was ill from the age of 25 until she died at 36, spending part of almost every year in the hospital.
With a sick son and her own illness, she could easily have retreated into a world of self-pity, but instead she grew and built a very creative and busy life for all of us.
First, she was an excellent seamstress and she made all of my clothing, plus redesigned outfits for herself from clothing she purchased at the Goodwill. Because of her talent for pattern marking, she was often asked to make clothing for others, especially by copying expensive dresses that department stores would have on display. This she did with great skill and many times it was difficult to tell the original from her copy.
Birthdays were special occasions in our neighborhood, especially if the Birthday Cake was one my mother made. Her cakes, and decorations, were very much desired and our doorbell would ring several times a week as women came to ask for one of her “special cakes”.
Between her expertise in creating special clothing and her skill in baking, she was also a Blue Bird Leader and directed many musical programs for my elementary school. One in particular I remember because I was in the program and my mother created all the long blue tulle dresses the girls wore, along with hoops covered in white crepe paper with blue flowers on them. My part in the program was to do acrobatics through the hoops. The music we moved to was “Alice Blue Gown” –
“In my sweet little Alice blue gown
When I first wandered down into town
I was both proud and shy, as I felt every eye
And in every shop window I primped passing by
Then in manner of fashion, I'd frown
And the world seemed to smile all around
'Til it wilted, I wore it, I'll always adore it
My sweet little Alice blue gown”
From the Broadway Musical "Irene" (1919)
(Music: Harry Tierney / Words: Joseph McCarthy)
If that were all she did, it would have been enough for a young woman dealing with her own illness, the illness of her son, and raising two children. But she had much more creativity inside her.
When I was somewhere between the ages of 8 and 12, by mother began to play the guitar, to sing, and to yodel. She put together a western band and the band was good enough to secure many weekend jobs in various Los Angeles locations. The band became quite popular as my mother wrote her own songs, sang them with the band, and could yodel better than anyone, outside of Roy Rogers. A skill that was quite uncommon, even then. She also created a beautiful black and white costume, black satin blouse, white skirt with fringe, and black and white cowboy boots. This ensemble went well with her black and white guitar.
She had her first serious surgery at the age of 25 when one of her kidneys was removed because it had been destroyed by TB. From that time on every year brought more and more serious health issues as new and, even sometimes experimental, drugs were used to try and stop the spreading TB infection.
Yet, even with all of the pain and suffering she had to undergo with these treatments, she continued to create, to sing, to grow as a woman - one of those early independent women we’ve read so much about. One of the last creations she made for me was a dress I wanted for a special high school program. It was modeled after a dress that Elizabeth Taylor wore in a movie, and it was spectacular.
When my mother was 33, and I was 15, my brother died of a brain tumor. I don’t think she ever really recovered from this tragedy. No parent ever does.
For the next few years she continued to fight her disease but it was obvious the disease was winning the battle. The last three years of her life she spent much of the time in the hospital. In fact she was even unable to attend my high school graduation because of being hospitalized.
My graduation took place when I was 16 and a year later she allowed me to obtain my own apartment. She knew her time was short and she didn’t want me to be left without the security of having my own place to live. She had prepared me well to live without her support or, for that matter, any family support. When I wanted to take drama, dancing, and art in high school, she made sure I took typing, shorthand, and business, therefore giving me the tools to get a full-time job at 16, passing every typing and shorthand test I was given.
Her final hospital stay was a difficult one. She spent three days in and out of a coma, suffering seizures as she slowly died from uremic poisoning. I spent those three days at her bedside as she lost the fight she had fought for so long.
I tell this story to show that it isn’t age and longevity that gives us a good life, but it’s what we do with the time we have on earth. We can do something and be creative in a few years or live a lifetime and spend it “wishing we had done something”.
The closing to this story is exactly what my mother would have wanted. On the day of her funeral, my step-father, my mother’s two best friends, and I were sitting in the back of the black limousine waiting for the procession to the cemetery. My step-father and a male friend were playing with the buttons on the door panels. Nothing seemed to be working. Just then the driver got into the limo and turned on the engine. Music came blasting out of the speakers, music my mother would have loved. The poor driver was twisting and turning all the knobs trying to turn it off as the limo slowly began to follow the hearse down the street. Finally he realized that someone in the back had been fooling with the knobs, and he managed to stop the blasting sound.
Can you imagine a black limousine following a hearse down the street, with music blaring out of it and all heads turning to see what was happening? My mother would have loved the stares her procession was getting, even in those circumstances.