Since Frank passed away I’ve developed an obsessive need for listening to types of music I normally didn’t before his death. In fact, it began before he died because during the last three months of his illness we both listened to music that was unusual for us. Frank had mentioned Blind Boys of Alabama sometime in the fall of 2009, so when Christmas time came along I bought him a couple of their cd’s. They’re an amazing gospel group from Alabama, and their music became something Frank and I relied on to find peace towards the end of his illness. I even used one of the songs they sing, Amazing Grace (they sing it to the tune of House of the Rising Sun), at his funeral service.
I continued to listen to Blind Boys of Alabama for weeks, months actually, after Frank died. I couldn’t listen to anything else, nor would I. The music just made me think of him and through those songs I grieved – I prayed, cried, yelled, begged, pleaded…willing to do anything I could think of to bring him back and make everything right. But I knew that wasn’t going to bring him back. Obviously, nothing would. Although I thought if he could have come back even in the last physical state he was in before he died, I would have accepted it because it would be HIM. The real truth was that I wouldn’t want him back in that condition because it WASN’T him, the Frank I knew, and he wouldn’t have wanted to be that way again either.
Back around the May /June time-frame, I found I couldn’t listen to Blind Boys anymore. To this day I haven’t figured out why; I have tried because I love their music, but each time I start to hear the beginning of a song I have to stop playing it. I can’t find pleasure in singing to their songs anymore. There’s nothing wrong with their music, in fact it’s absolutely beautiful but I think the linkage between Frank’s last days and the music isn’t doing for me what it might others – bring peace. Rather, it disturbs me because it reminds me all too well of what he looked like and was that last week, small and weak.
In mid-June I attended my best friend’s, young son’s funeral. Ruth had chosen a couple of Sarah McLachlan songs to be played during the service. A week later I went out and bought the Laws of Illusion cd. I must have played that 4 or 5 dozen times over the next six or eight weeks. At least that many times. While listening to her music I danced, I sang along with her, and I not only remembered Drew as a wonderful young boy, growing into a funny, awkward teenager, but it also helped me remember Frank in the best ways possible. His former strong self, the real Frank I knew and loved with every fiber of my being.
Then I heard a song on the radio, found out who the group was and bought their latest cd. That was Save Me, San Francisco by Train. Again, I played that over and over to the point where I now know every drum beat, every break and chorus line. And it feels good. So amazingly good. Almost guilty good. I can put it on and I find myself moving around the living room, just doing a silly dance which actually is nothing more than simply moving. How bizarre is that? I then went out and purchased another Train cd called My Private Nation. Again, I’ve played that one over and over and over…clearly with this new round of music, Train’s that is, I don’t feel sad! In fact, I sometimes feel rather giddy – like something is changing in my life but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but that music is part of it or what music does to me is part of it. I wish I knew how to explain that better.
Then out of the blue two other groups came to mind and I had to buy their cd’s, Traffic and Blues Traveler. Frank introduced me to Traffic’s music years ago, he had a cassette tape of theirs called Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, so I bought that cd (cd’s are so much better to listen to, tho tapes do bring back some fond memories, for many different reasons). I remember loving that tape while listening to it in the garage (i.e. Frank’s man-cave) and singing it out of tune with him. Believe me, he couldn’t carry a tune in a handbag, as the saying goes, and in turn it made me sing out of tune with him. That brings huge smiles to my face because he tried so hard to sing IN tune and we’d laugh our asses off when he couldn’t.
As for the Blues Traveler group, I purchased the one called ‘travelogue: Blues Traveler classics’. I had no idea until I listened to it the first time how many songs I actually knew. What a lovely surprise that has been! Again, I have repeated playing both the Blues Traveler and Traffic cd’s over incessantly, but interestingly enough, I’m not finding any particular urge to find another group to listen to right now. I’m sticking with Train, Blues Traveler and Traffic right now and I’m not sure what to make of that, but I think that speaks to the healing power of music. Not just its words or meanings of the lyrics or the tempo. Just something I can’t put my finger on…it all seems to be making an impact for the better.
By no means do I believe I am through grieving for the ‘The Dude” – good Lord, that could take an untold amount of time, maybe forever – but I do feel I’m on a definite path to finding peace. And if music is the conduit to the path that I need to walk, bring it on. I also feel I am not on that path alone – there is someone there to walk with me. Someone new, someone perhaps to even guide me. I just don’t know who that is yet.
Cancer - Uncensored 