The music died…and then!
In the song “American Pie” there is a verse that goes in part, “the man there said the music wouldn’t play”. I didn’t understand that as a child, or a young person. I didn’t understand it until someone very close to me left this existence and went on to the next. Then, the realisation hit me.
As a person who depends on music to deal with emotions, I came to the startling and disturbing conclusion that the music did nothing for me. It did not soothe or anger. It did not give me catharsis. It just was there. And this profoundly disturbed me. No, changed me in some undefinable way. It was, in many ways, an experience I had hoped to avoid.
I have been lucky I suppose. I have known people who have died, but other than animals and the aforementioned , I have never lost anyone so close, so integral to me that caused me to feel that the music wouldn’t play…. Wouldn’t soothe. Wouldn’t heal me. Until now.
For days I have been longing for music. And yet, every song I play, every song I make up in my head whilst I’m giving the house a clean or doing other jobs, causes me to think of her. This afternoon, I was waiting for my father to arrive with some things I needed from the shops and I was feeling a bit out of sorts and tired. I needed something to occupy myself so I would not fall asleep and be unable to let my father in to the building which is secure access only. Think prison-like and you’ve got the idea. You must have the magic clicker to open every door, use the elevators, etc.
My fingers strayed across my phone and I found myself playing songs we both enjoyed. They were, in fact, songs C had been begging me to play before she went into hospital. As usual, I put her off. Yes, every one made me think of her. Yes, the tears came and I wept unashamedly. Still, I think, no, I feel, the music start to heal me. My body is wracked with pain, (injuries and illnesses), and my mind is on it’s way out, so I think I should get some rest. Dogs are again at play. Jazz on in the background. Time for bed.
Harriet Beecher Stowe once said, “The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.” How true.