[troo]: The lyrics for this song were inspired by a crush Spandau Ballet’s Gary Kemp had on Altered Images singer and Gregory’s Girl star Clare Grogan: “I was infatuated with Clare Grogan,” he told The Guardian. “I met her on Top of the Pops and, at one point, travelled up to Scotland to have tea with her and her mum and dad. Although my feelings were unrequited and the relationship was platonic, it was enough to trigger a song,”

I have always been a good liar. It comes with the job. A prisoner asks a question while up on the roof walking outside, their walk has gone over their time and I always have the same answers:

”Soon,” everything is soon.. They have no idea how much time has gone by and they have nowhere to be, no doctors appoints, no job, no school meetings with their children’s parents.

Everything is just “soon”. My soon is your soon, but you have no idea when my soon is.

My job has made me a professional “I get paid for” to lie to you job.

One thing that is very true is the fact of our own mortality. I do not want to seems depressing because it feels like I always talk about death here. My post “Goodbye” was a good example of how people I know have died.

I was looking a few minutes ago at a colleagues Facebook post. A beautiful old picture of her mother and the announcement that she had died. It seems so sad, especially when you take a look around and explore the whole thing.

She left behind at least two daughters. She grew up in Stockholm and she is still married to the same man for quite sometime… I think she probably had an excellent life.

I can see her there at family holidays being the queen of the family, supervising Christmas dinner and laying out all of the food at the summer solstice (midsommar) for all of her family by the lake.

I think of the daughter I know she raised. How she is made of half iron and cotton and can roam around the jail in the darkness surrounded by fluorescent lights above her head… doing things like handing out medicine and listening to howls in the night in the place not so far away was called “The house that God had forgotten” .

Her daughter must have gotten her strong independence from her mother. The things like wondering through the cobbled streets of Spain with her backpack all alone. Something not even most teenagers would try to accomplice, but she did.

She goes skiing, she runs around in a turtle neck and even in her lightest days never hears a word you say unless you scream at her in the dressing room.

This must have been a spitting image of her mother.

How do you handle such a loss in your life I can only understand that when my grandmother died. She was as close to as a mother for a long time that I can ever think of. I was an ego, and she saw me as the only thing that made her world spin on its axis.

I would not know how I would react if my birth mother was to die. Would I miss her sporadic texts? Would I miss the sometimes phone calls I make to her on Sunday evenings.

I can think about how she did the most instinctively wrong thing a woman does do: Having a way to support their child, be there and still letting them go. She would always tell me that: “She should have fought harder. That is the biggest regret of my life.”

The odd thing is that me and my younger brother of the three are the ones that have been there. We have been there for her.

I try to see the good side of who she is. How she spends time with the nephew I will probably meet, and that she respects my wishes about not trying to get involved in my daughters life. (You make these hard decisions because you want what is best her her at all costs).

I wonder after reading that post on Facebook how my daughter will feel when I die, I hope I get to be old. I hope that she will see me all wrinkled and fixing food for her to eat. I want to be that crazy old mom that is the “Cool” grandmother. The one that break all the rules and buys them tons of plastic toys.

I think a lot about mortality these days. It is not easy when your wife is getting biopsy’s and being poked and prodded to see if she has cancer again. Just what would I do without her? How would her children feel?

Just the thought of it makes me understand a very tiny part of what she must be feeling right now. The emptiness the loss. It cannot be easy. I do not know if she was sick like my grandmother; lying in a bed where you just look at her and say when you are alone to her ear:

“I want you to die now. It is ok, because you are not living like this”

My father is sick, with something I have no idea what it is (it seems to complicated to understand). But he talks a lot about how he is going to die in like 10 years and what not. He has his good days and his bad days. He walks with a cane, but stills rides around in his 3 wheel Harley Davidson. He is 63 years old.

I smile and I think of my friend the last time I saw her. She looked like she should be riding a Harley. With her long sleeved shirt, tight pants and belt with gold circles that hanged like a swing over her waist.

She won evenings “Bond girl” and it made me smile. Because she is strong, probably just like her mother was.

And that much must be true.

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