The Last Time I Saw Lemmy
It was September 14, 2015. Although I would always go to see Motorhead if they were anywhere in New England (not to mention many other places in the country, and the London or Dublin) I have to say I felt an urgency to get there to see Lemmy, sensing that it would be the last time. I had seen recent photos and you didn’t need to be psychic to see the he wasn’t long for this world.
I was in the habit of spending time with Phil when I’d go to see the band since Lemmy seemed to want to be left alone when I’d seen him in recent years, but this time I didn’t even let Phil know I was there. I requested to see Lemmy only.
They said he wouldn’t be seeing anyone till after the show. I understood his need to reserve his energy. This also indicated to me that he was very weak and unwell as I expected.
Watching him onstage, I was horrified. He looked so ill. I remember thinking “Can’t these people see that he’s not really there? He’s a ghost of himself.” I thought of a conversation with Lemmy in the past in which Ozzy Osbourne came up and Lemmy said “Dead man walking!” And yet Lemmy seemed to be on death’s door.
The audience, as excited and happy to see Motorhead as usual, was incongruous considering the state of him. Why was he up there in front of his adoring fans when he was so unwell? Unlike what was typical of him onstage, moving about, his full body engaged with the guitar as he played, he stood still in front of the microphone as he sang. Even though they were apprehensive, I know that Mickey and Phil resolved to support Lemmy’s commitment to continue as long as he could. Mickey Dee said in a recent interview “Trust me, me and Phil put in 150%, Lemmy must have put in 300% to get through the sets.”
I actually felt ill and had to retreat to a side room at the venue and lay down. I could still hear the music, and it was easier to listen to the music rather than to see Lemmy on stage that night. I just hoped I’d be able to see him afterwards, because clearly he was not well and things were not as usual.
I waited outside at the stage door for a time in yet another little black (sober) dress, made especially for the occasion. I was invited in at last. Lemmy and I sat in front of the mirror that lined the room. (Interesting that this relationship began in front of a mirror and ended in front of a mirror. That’s only just occurred to me as I write.) He had been reading as usual, and still had the book in front of him as we talked. Painfully thin, his sunken, darkened eyes looked at me through the mirror. I sat rather nervously while we talked about our choices to dye or not to dye our aging hair. I carefully avoided any mention of his health and how he looked. Tending to be overly critical of myself and others and how our bodies change, not for the better, as we age, I thought about how my feelings for him made that inconsequential. To me, even in the state he was in it made no difference in terms of his attractiveness to me. Whether he was fat or thin, old, or unhealthy, it just didn’t matter. Unconditional love, makes it so.
(While I’m sitting in the cafe’ writing this poignant memory, the Petula Clark song “Son of a Preacher Man” came on, the song I relate to Lemmy, since he was just that. Next the Dave Clark Five song “Because I Love You’ played. I believe in signs like that and feel like he’s with me as I write) It’s made me cry…I’m surprised that I would get emotional. After all, it’s been 10 years since I last saw him. It has been an emotional experience to look back and write about my memories of him, reliving those times, mostly heartwarming but some poignant and hard to review.
Nervously I picked up a knife off the cheese platter in front of me. Pointing the tip of the knife into the tabletop, I slide my fingers down the sides of it, flipped it, and slide my fingers down it again and again. After a minute or two of this Lemmy abruptly grabbed the knife out of my hand. I looked at him in the mirror questioningly, wondering why he grabbed it and in response he said “One has to be careful of a woman with a knife in her hand” as he grinned at me. I nodded. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him.
“Could you rub my back gently?” he asked quietly.
“Of course!” I responded as I jumped up, happy to help and to lay my hands on him. I hoped I could have a healing effect at least momentarily. I began running my fingertips over his back.
“You have such a soft touch, the tenderness in your fingertips” he noted again as he had many years earlier.
I knew he felt emotionally comfortable and safe with me in this moment. While, whenever I saw him, he would show me his music, or someone else’s music he admired, or his recently acquired WW2 weapons, now showed me the pacemaker imbedded under his skin near his collarbone. I ran my fingers gently over the outline of the pacemaker under his skin.
I continued running my fingers over his back for some time till one of the crew interrupted to let Lem know some musicians were requesting to see him. Lemmy was quite frail and those caring for him were careful not to tax his health, but he said to bring them on in and they all talked about the music while I sipped the Jack n’ Coke Lemmy had poured for me.
Before leaving, of course, they asked to take photos with him. I asked them to take photos of the two of us as well. As they left, his assistant said it was time to get on the bus and get going.
Lemmy and I had a last hug and I whispered “ I love you” in his ear.. I feel lucky that I had some time alone with Lemmy that day.
I stood at the door watching him walk to the bus, his assistant close by, watching out for him, and that was it.
Two and a half months later when I opened my computer and saw Mickey’s letter letting us know he was gone I ran to Sun’s place, in shock, even though I had been anticipating this news for so long.
“Lemmy’s dead” I stated.
“Are you sure? Sun asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Mickey has announced it. “It’s for real.” I said flatly.
Sun jumped up and hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe and he didn’t let go for the longest time.
Eventually, I said. “I won’t be answering my phone or talking to anyone for a few days. Let people know, will you?”
That’s when I started writing, and here we are…
