The Message In the Music

The introduction.  The most difficult part of any story, blog post, essay, etc.  When I write these blogs, I spend an eternity trying to figure out how to start them.  Maybe it would be easier if I posted more often; it's been about seven months since my last post.  But as I've mentioned before, I like to wait until something meaningful happens that is worth writing about.  Our days are filled with small moments, most of which aren't really worth sharing with the rest of the world.  Today, however, I had one of those bigger moments.  One that I feel compelled to write about and share...with whomever may be interested.

I should probably start with a backstory, though any who've read my previous posts already know about it.  Nearly seven years ago, I endured perhaps one of the most difficult times in my life.  My mother, whom I adored, succumbed to cancer.  It was a long, hard battle for her - three years of radiation, chemotherapy, new medications, old medications, visits to the family doctor's and oncologist's offices, days spent in bed when she was too weak to even stand, countless times in the bathroom vomiting from the side effects of whatever new drugs the doctors wanted to pump into her system, losing her hair, becoming so thin at times that she looked emaciated.  To this day, I'm surprised she survived as long as she did.  Yet through it all, a part of me believed that if I prayed hard enough, she would be cured.  God couldn't possibly let such a wonderful soul like hers suffer for no reason.  I was wrong, and when she finally passed, I crashed hard, as did most of the family.
As the months and years passed after her death, I had friends and family tell me of dreams they had where they spoke to Mom.   They relayed stories of seeing Mom in their dreams, and the sense of calm, peace, and (maybe most importantly) closure that they felt afterward.  Some would tell me of specific moments when they felt, even knew, that Mom was there.  A sound, a whisper, a slight breeze through their hair, some small event that told them beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mom was still with them.

I, however, wasn't so lucky.  After Mom passed, I never once dreamed of her.  I didn't hear her voice.  I didn't see her face.  As far as I was concerned, Mom was in heaven, which by itself gave me some comfort, but didn't give me any closure.  There were times where I thought "maybe", but nothing had happened which gave me definitive proof that she was there, at least nothing that I could see.  I often felt sad, thinking that Mom was taking the time to make her presence known to others, but not to me. I talked to her many times, sometimes asking her to show me a sign, hoping that she'd somehow hear me and do or say something to remind me that she hadn't completely left me. In the time since she passed, I learned to accept what happened, but still felt hurt that so many others had their closure (at least they said they did), while I continued to struggle with my loss. It was only about two years ago that I was able to go to her grave site and tell her goodbye and that I was okay with her being gone.  That provided some solace, but deep down, I still felt sadness.  I wondered if I’d ever have that feeling of closure and if the wound in my heart would ever truly heal.  I wondered too if I’d ever have that feeling that others had, that feeling of just knowing she’s around and still watching.  Today, I got my answer.

While getting ready for lunch, I climbed into to my Escape, trying to figure out exactly where I wanted to go.  The town where I work has so many culinary pleasures in which to indulge that the task of simply choosing a place to eat requires an extra half hour of contemplation before lunch even starts.  As I was sitting in my SUV, thinking and listening to my stomach growling in its usual low bass tone, a song popped into my head:  God Exalted Him.  I’d not heard that song for a very long time, and at the moment, I had no idea why it came to mind.  Once the title was there, I immediately felt that I had to hear it again.  If I did nothing else the rest of the day, I had to hear that song.  I fumbled with my cell phone, hastily pulling up You Tube and frantically searching the phrase “god exalted him”.  Luckily, there are a few gospel music aficionados out there who like the song well enough to post videos of it.  I pulled up a video of three young girls singing a very nice three-part harmony of the song.  I sat back in the driver seat with my eyes closed, letting the sounds of soprano, mezzo-soprano, and alto voices wash over me.

As the main chorus approached, I felt myself getting choked up.  I struggled to fight back the emotion welling up inside me.  From nowhere, I felt a wave of sadness, but it was somehow mixed with catharsis.  Music has always been important to me, but to be so affected by a song was, needless to say, shocking and a bit embarrassing.  Why did I suddenly think of this song, and why was it hitting me so hard?  I continued to listen, and my mind drifted to Mom.  

While Mom was still alive and before she became ill with cancer, she and my father were members of a choir called The Queen’s Vagabonds.  They were a magnificent group, and they performed numerous gospel songs, each rendition rehearsed into utter perfection. Listening to their singing was pure joy for me, and their repertoire was quite extensive.  One of those songs…was God Exalted Him.

I remembered Mom talking to me about that song years ago, and telling me it was one of her favorites.  She looked forward to every performance that included it, and when she watched videos of the performances afterward, she would often get emotional.  The four-part harmony that came forth through the members’ powerful voices was overwhelming, especially with that song.  One could say it was one of their signature songs.  The video I was watching on You Tube was good, yet didn’t compare to the beautiful tones of The Queen’s Vagabonds.  I continued to listen to the video, but in my imagination, I pictured Mom and Dad’s choir singing it.

That instant, while my imagination ran free, I had a sudden epiphany.   I thought about the many other times when I’d been busy at work or at home, and one of Mom’s songs would discreetly find its way into my mind.  I’d catch myself humming the chorus line, albeit not as well as Mom would’ve done it.  I’d finish the song and go about my business, none the wiser.  Until today, I shrugged off those particular musical moments as some random event, an errant neuron firing in my brain and bringing up some miscellaneous song from the dusty musical Rolodex in my head.  But today it felt different, and comparing this moment to all those others made them seem different too.

I figured out what those moments meant.  Mom was talking to me.  She’d been talking to me all along…through music.  Mom knew how much I enjoyed music, and she also knew that I knew what her favorite songs were.  Anne Murray’s You Needed Me, The Carpenters’ Close To You, Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville’s All I Need To Know, and now, God Exalted Him.  All these songs and several others have crossed my mind at some point.  They’re not necessarily my favorites (even though I know the words), but I know Mom loved all of them.  Each time I caught myself humming them, it wasn’t a random thought.  It was Mom, reminding me that she’s still watching, and communicating to me in a way she knew I’d understand…eventually.  She’s always been with me, and she’s been trying to tell me so all this time.  I just wasn’t listening.

After a couple minutes, God Exalted Him ended, as did my emotional breakdown.  I put the Escape in drive and headed off to lunch.  The rest of today, I felt relaxed and at peace, though anyone who read my comments about work on Facebook would think otherwise.  The hole in my heart that was created by Mom’s death closed a little bit, and I knew that Mom was reaching out to me, just not in the same way that she’d reached out to others.

I might be delusional.  A strictly rational person would likely say those musical memories really are random, just a coincidence that I’m using to alleviate my sense of loss.  But faith isn’t rational, and love isn’t rational.  They exist in the soul, not the mind.  I have renewed faith that my loved ones are never really gone, and my love for them – and their love for me – never truly dies.  They will always be with me.  All I have to do is pay attention to the signs, be they a whisper on the wind, a stroke of good luck…or just a little song.