Last week after a particularly unpleasant evening, I repeated to myself, "some things just don't need to be shared on a blog. Some things just don't need to be shared on a blog." I refrained from sharing that event and my feelings about it. Perhaps, part of this blog falls in that category. I am not sure. I push forward anyway.
Yesterday, I was driving when the song "When I Get Where I'm Going" came on the radio. I was almost overcome with grief and sadness. The song took me to Tulip Street Methodist Church and my brother's memorial service. His son's father-in-law played the guitar and sang that song during the service. My thoughts traveled from there to the day my brother died. It was a beautiful April day. I had a perfectly wonderful walking tour with Goodpasture. A father on the tour who was also a police officer got the call. Of course, he did not connect the report of a suicide in Shelby Park to the person conducting his son's 4th grade field trip. How could he?
I keep my phone off during tours. Ringing phones create terrible disruptions. When my tour was over, I turned my phone on and noticed several missed calls from my brother, Sam....only one message, "Mellie, call me as soon as you can." I called him. There is no way that sort of news can be gently delivered. Sam just said, "Charlie is dead. He shot himself in Shelby Park." My husband was beeping in, and when I answered he told me to stay where I was, he was coming to get me....such sweet words. He was coming to get me.
How does one express to a mother how deeply sorry you are for the loss of her firstborn? How indeed? At that point it had to be about her, and taking care of her needs. I remember as the afternoon wore on and details of that horrible event began to unfold, I just sat on the curb in the parking lot of my mother's condo, and Marshall came and sat beside me, putting his arm around me. He did not say a word. He was just there. Countless others came by to express their love for us. They held us up through that long and agonizing weekend and the days that followed. Without them, and our knowledge that as we grieved the Lord God Almighty wept with us, we might not have made it. One song...on the radio...and the memories pour in.
Recently, I heard Rascal Flatts's song, "I'm Movin' On." That song never fails to bring tears to my eyes. I do not know who wrote it. I assume it was someone who had experience with addiction and the long road to recovery. I am well acquainted with people who have struggled through addiction, and the truths revealed in that song help me understand somewhat their struggle. I would never presume that I could ever understand it fully; not without having experienced it myself. I love the lines, "I'm content with a past I regret" and "at peace with myself." Those in recovery are not the only ones who benefit by reaching a place of contentment with a past that cannot be changed, and becoming at peace with oneself. I imagine how true the line about friends meaning no harm but never allowing the person to change. It is scary to watch others change and overcome that which we ourselves battle. A song...a haunting melody, poignant words...and the memories pour in.
Lest you think I am in a dark and morbid place, I have many joyful memories sparked by music. When I hear the Mills Brothers (granted, it does not happen often) singing "Across the Alley From the Alamo" I think of Mr. Lincoln teaching it to Marshall when he was just a wee boy. This is the whole reason Mr. Lincoln and I do not have "a song." I would pick something very Motown, and he would pick something very Big Band. I am fairly certain the man lived an earlier life, died on D-Day at Omaha Beach, and was reincarnated just in time to marry me....fairly certain.
Marshall loved the song "Elvira," and he would play air guitar, singing to the tops of his lungs at age 2 or so. Once when "El Shaddai" was on the radio, he was in the back seat joyfully and loudly singing, "Elsa died on a dark and stormy night." I love that memory. Another vivid memory of music and Marshall was driving home from Topsail Island, NC (don't go there ~ vacation from Purgatory). It was an interminable drive. Marshall's friend, Brian Ray, was in the car with us. Mr. Lincoln had MP and her friend, Kristen, in another car. I was fighting sleep as I drove. We rolled the windows down, cranked up Charlie Daniels' "Devil Went Down to Georgia" as loudly as possible, hung our heads out the windows belting out that song as we drove through Knoxville. We got some stares, but it helped get us home. I remember another time with that song, playing air fiddle, in a boat. A story for another day, perhaps.
Whenever I hear the Dixie Chicks sing "Cowboy Take Me Away," I am transported to Athens, GA, on a beautiful weekend during MP's Freshman year at UGA. I had gotten us a room at a darling bed and breakfast just to get her out of that dorm, and away from her roommate, the witch. No, I am not calling her an ugly name. She was a self-proclaimed witch named Sugar. We had such a beautiful weekend together, and apparently that particular song was very popular at the time because every time I hear it I am back in Georgia with MP. When I hear Sarah McLachlan sing "I Will Remember You," I find myself in the DLHS gym at homecoming. MP was in the court and she had to introduce her friend who had been chosen as Miss Lipscomb. It was a touching and emotional speech because both MP and Laura had lost a grandfather that fall. A song...and the memories pour in.
There are other songs and memories, of course. "House of the Rising Sun," "Louie, Louie" (what is that song about?), both take me to sock hops at Stratford High School. "Born to be Wild" takes me to cheerleading camp. I don't know why, because, heaven knows, I was not born to be wild, unless going to bed at 9:00 is wild. "Oh, Sacred Head," sad to say, is the song I would sing when rocking my babies to sleep. Seriously, I could not have chosen something a little more upbeat than "oh, sacred head now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down?" It's a wonder Marshall and MP grew up with any sense at all with that as their lullaby. "Peace, Perfect, Peace" played very slowly on the piano...because I could not play it any faster. It served as great motivation for the family to get ready and get out of the house in a timely fashion. One can only listen to so much of that. Perhaps, that is why my kids are so punctual. Memories of trying to get away from Mom's Liberace impersonations.
What a beautiful gift music is. All the memories a song can spark. So for today, I wish you a serendipitous revisiting of music you love, and I wish you
blessings
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