Music has always been my greatest joy, and a source of comfort.  I find solace in a melody, and meaning in a lyric.  But in the midst of grieving for my son, I found myself unable to sing.  Whenever I opened my mouth, sadness and loss poured out and choked me.  Maybe this happens because music emanates from the soul?  I found a quote that made sense: “Music moves us as it can bypass reasoning, getting to our deepest memories and what we hold dear..” from Music Over a Lifespan by Rictor Noren(Psychology Today). 

surviving

I try not to dwell on the accident, but my mind wanders back there.  I’ve pored over the death certificate, especially details for cause of death.  Like any mothers, I need to understand what my son experienced; and if he felt any pain.   This is where I hang on to my faith.  I believe he wasn’t alone when he died.  I believe that he felt no pain, and that he saw only beauty.  And, now he is home.

I reached a point where I was so very tired of telling the story. With each telling, I opened the scab and I returned to that dark, dark place.  So, now I work hard at being “normal” and moving through my days incognito (If you didn’t know me; I’d look just like the next person shopping, doing errands and interacting with strangers).  But, the intensity required to keep such tight control is a strain: tension builds, muscles tighten and i find myself swallowing often – as if I could keep this swirling mass of emotion from rising in my throat.

 The song seems to capture the vice-like hold that grief has:

“Something always brings me back to you.  It never takes too long.  No matter what I say or do I’ll still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone.

 Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity.Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be.But you’re on to me and all over me.

  You loved me ’cause I’m fragile. When I thought that I was strong. But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

 Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity.  Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be.  But you’re on to me and all over me.”

Gravity by Sara Bareilles