The Music of My Life

Matt, senior year of high school, singing DMB "Best of What's Around" with his friend Mark. 

Matt played the bongo drums and Mark played the guitar.  

Music is a powerful tool that we have here on this earth.  Music soothes our soul in church, evokes powerful memories, inspires a great run, calms us in an elevator, annoys us in commercials, makes ordinary moments romantic, and causes us to think...to think of and ponder our lives as we are wrapped into lyrics and melodies.

My brother Matt loved music.  He truly appreciated all kinds.  Certain artists will always remind me of him.  Michael Jackson, Dave, Bob Seger, and James Tayler were some of our favorites together.  He loved to dance, he sang, played the bongo drums, went to concerts, and had one song that he knew how to play on the piano...over, and over, and over, and over (Rufus Wainwright, Hallelujah).

Our sister, Colleen, actually is a musician.  She plays classical music, and is in a band.  He was immensely proud of her and was one of her biggest fans.  You would think that getting a twenty-something guy to go to a classical concert would be difficult, but if Colleen was playing, he was psyched.  

When Matt was away at law school, I liked to send him care packages.  They always had a mix CD in them.  When he received my packages, he would call to tell me what he liked the most from the package.  It was always the mix CD (although one time, the Star Wars fruit snacks were a close second).  Since he has gone to Heaven, new songs have come out that I will never be able to put onto a CD for him.

The first time I heard a song that I knew he would have loved, and that he would never hear on earth, I cried  The second time I heard that song, I listened to the lyrics.  Not only would Matt have loved this song, it was about our life.

There are four songs that came out right before, or shortly after my brother went to Heaven that have spoken to my heart.  They remind me of him, our family, my pain and grief, or in some way make me feel close to Matt.  As the months have worn on, I listen for them carefully each time I have the radio on.  They are newer songs, so they are overplayed, of course.  Whenever one comes on, I feel like Matt is with me.

Listening for these songs has turned into a game.  Could I hear all four of them in one day?
Usually I would hear three.  It was impossible to get to the fourth.  I flipped through the stations looking for the fourth song.  75% happened almost every day.  I knew that the day that I heard the fourth song, I would feel especially close to Matt, and that it would be a small miracle.  This game has gone on for weeks.  These are the songs:

Song #1, Passenger - Let Her Go: This song reminds me of the beauty that we had as a family.  It was so beautiful, that we feel such intense pain now.
Listen here: Passenger Song

Song #2, One Direction - Story of My Life: There is a story to Matt's life now.  It has a beginning, middle, and devastatingly and end.  However, it is a beautiful story.
Listen here: One Direction Song

Song #3, Avicii - Wake Me Up: This one is very painful for me to hear.  It makes me think of my brother and his pain.  I picture him wishing that he would wake up when everything that was tormenting him was over.  He did wake up, just not here.
Listen here: Avicii Song

Song #4, Bastille - Pompeii: In this song, they sing "If I close my eyes, it's like nothing changed at all."  If only it were that simple.
Listen here: Bastille Song

Last week, I heard all four songs in one day.  I heard the last one as I pulled the car into my garage. I cried a little, talked to Matt, and felt close to him.  I didn't feel close to him because he and I have shared those songs together, but because they each remind me of him in some special way.  It was my own little miracle that day.

There are songs that take me back to moments with my brother.  Dancing, bonfires, parties, concerts, family vacations, Ravinia, and so many other beautiful memories that were accompanied by music.  Those are songs of our life together, and we will not have any more of those.

I don't know how it works in Heaven, and if he can hear music that was created after he left us.  If he can, then we are sharing them, but in a much different way than before.  If he cannot, I can only imagine who he is really jamming with right now.  Has he accompanied John Lennon with his bongos?  Are he and MJ doing the moonwalk together?  Has Matt had a chance to rap with Tupac?  Do the angels let people try their harps?  Just like the song by Mercyme...."I Can Only Imagine".  

Songs will be added to the soundtrack of my life, but none will ever be removed.  To hear new music that Mattie would have loved will probably always make me wish that he was here to share it with me, to dance together.  To hear old favorites, will allow me to close my eyes and pretend "it's like nothing changed at all."

Music can also give us hope.  My little musical miracle last week, reminded me to continue to be hopeful for miracles.

Stained

Two Saturdays ago, my mom hosted a bridal shower for one of my best friends.  The shower was held at the house where I grew up.  There were fifty women invited.  The last time that we had that many people at my parent's house was in October, after the memorial service for my brother.  That day, hundreds of people came to our home.  It was the longest day of my life.

As I drove the thirty minute drive from Wilmette to Wauconda on the day of the shower, I was filled with nervousness in anticipation of the day.  A bridal shower is a happy occasion, one to be celebrated, especially when it is of a friend who is as special and dear to me as the bride.  However, I felt anxiety.

There are pictures of my brother everywhere in our home.  Were people afraid to go to the house of the boy who had just died?  Would the bride's friends and family be watching us to see how we handled the day?  Did we look different?  I felt different.

This bridal shower was not about me.  It was about my dear friend Nicole, and her darling fiance Rob (who I adore).  Yet, I felt worried about how I would be perceived at the shower, held at my parent's home...the house of the boy who died.

The shower turned out perfectly.  Nicole was a gracious and lovely bride-to-be, the day was sunny and warm, the decorations beautiful, the food delicious, my mom the perfect hostess.  I was so proud of her, working so hard to do something so special for my friend in the midst of her grief.  I know it was healing for her to plan a happy occasion.

However, I was describing my anxiousness and worry about the shower to a friend.  I asked her why I felt so afraid to have something happy at my mom and dad's home.  I wanted help understanding those seemingly irrational feelings.

She said that I felt "stained" by my brother's death and that I was afraid that others could see those stains.  I thought about the word stained and I started to cry.  She perfectly described how I have felt for the last six months; stained by grief.

I feel stained in that I know that grief is imprinted on my face.  Smiling sometimes feels like a challenge, dark circles are more prominent, new wrinkles surround my eyes.  It is displayed in my home through pictures, memories, reminders of Matthew.  It resonates in my voice, through my tone.  My words are often not light, nor my conversation cheerful.  Losing Matt has infiltrated every ounce of my being, it has stained me.  I am forever changed.

I realize that it is a narcissistic perspective to believe that people are looking at me differently now, thinking about my brother's death, wondering about my family, and associating my life with Matthew's.  The world is moving on and people are thinking of their own lives, problems, worries, joys, celebrations, happiness, sadness, etc.  Maybe my internal pain isn't as externally evident as I think it is.  Maybe others can see it, but it is not as exaggerated as I believe it to be.

It is still so very powerful to me, six months later.  I think of Matt every hour, every minute, constantly.  I miss him all the time.  I look in the mirror, and my face looks tired, old, sad...stained.  I see grief in my reflection.

I only know that these stains are not ugly.  We throw away a favorite t-shirt when it becomes stained beyond repair, but we do not discard people.  I think of my friends who have gone through tragedies and sadness, and they only look more beautiful to me, on the other side.  They look strong, determined, graceful, and wise.  I pray that as I forge through this season of grief, I can come out on the other side a more relatable, compassionate, loving, peaceful version of myself.

For now, my stains reflect pain.  In the future they will display strength.  And celebrations (such as bridal showers) will help the stains to fade.