Memories in Music

Funny how powerful songs can be.  How quickly they can bring back a memory, like smells.  Its another thing I knew before--An NSYNC song from high school will take me back to a fun summer night with friends 15 years ago.  Or an oldies tune can bring back a memory from when I was young, riding around in the van when I was the little girl, and Grandma was the Mama (as I always start childhood stories for Molly). 

Songs have been triggering memories since Drew's been gone too.  Songs come on the radio that Drew liked to dance too (probably because I liked to dance to them), or songs from movies that the kids loved to sing along with, like the infamous, Let It Go.

 And certain songs have the power to trigger sad memories too. I have flashbacks to moments that bring me to tears.  One came up this week that always gets me.   A song I remember from the late fall last year as I took Drew over to Rochester one morning by myself.  It was soon after we had been told Drew would "probably" not be a long term survivor, that he'd never grow up.  I was in a place of deep disappointment.  Despair and disbelief.  It was the song, "One Call Away" by Charlie Puth. 

As it came on the radio last week in my van, I parked, and closed my eyes, instantly back to that time, a little over a year ago. That morning I was right by the Menards on South Broadway, just after you go under Hwy 52 when it came on.  And at that time, the words really got to me:  "I'm only one call away...I'll be there to save the day...Superman got nothing on me...I'm only one call away..."

I looked back at him in the rear view mirror, just riding along.  Smiling at me when he noticed I was looking at him.  Then looking concerned as he also noticed the tears streaming down my cheeks-- "What happened Mom?"  he asked.  "Nothing, Bobo," I lied to him.  And tried to keep it together as I drove the rest of the way to the Clinic.  Where he'd be asked to do things no 2 year old should have been asked.  Things that "probably" would be all for nothing anyway.

I continued to sneak glances at him while that song played.  Watching him get excited as he saw that water tower thing that looks like a big ear of corn, "There's the corn, Mom!".  He doesn't even know..I remember thinking.  Which seemed to make it worse that day.  He didn't even know what was going on...that I couldn't save the day.  I couldn't be his Superman, I couldn't do anything.  I felt so helpless.  So powerless.  A Mother's suppose to protect, to come to the rescue for her kids.  I wished with everything I was that I could change things, that I could save him.  I'm sorry Baby, I told him in my head,  If only I could save you...

The song ended on the radio, I open my eyes, and I was back in HyVee parking lot, almost a year later, alone, with an empty seat where his car seat would have been.

Its these triggers that can't be planned, or avoided that convince me I'll never be truly "over it".  I'm almost to the end of a grief book that explains just that.  Grief is never "gotten over", you just learn to deal with it.  The book proposes that we should focus on two scales from 1-10.  The first, how strong your emotions are in your grief; and the second how able you are to deal with those feelings.  The goal isn't to get to a point where the first scale is down to 0 or 1, but to work to bring the second one up to a 9 or 10 most of the time, and let the first slide as it does through time. 

That makes sense to me, because I can see that even after a year, two years, 10 years, there'll always be something that will bring up a memory, and the following emotional reaction.  I do have hope it'll get less frequent, and maybe less intense over time. But I'm accepting that I won't ever be "over it", but only able to handle it better.  I'm beginning to appreciate these sad moments, to almost enjoy them as stinging as they are.  Because as I sat in my car in the HyVee parking lot last week, listening the that song and crying,  I was back with him for a moment, even if it was a sad moment.  He was there, in my mind, in my memory, as clear as day.  I could hear his voice and see his smile, and I never want would want that to stop, no matter how much it hurts.

This is how it is going, two days away from 8 months out.  I am doing better at handling the waves.  I can have these moments, and then still go into the store.  Come home and prep dinner for my family. Smile as I spend time with friends.  Be engaged with my daughter when she comes home from school.  Its starting to be balanced, or at least sometimes it can be.  And I think that's probably pretty good.

The next song that came on was Journey, "Don't Stop Believin".  Now I've talked some about how I'm on the fence about signs, but it was just the song to make me smile as I dried my tears, blew my nose, gathered my list and headed into the store. 

Don't stop believing....hold on to that feeelin'...