April 24 2024

My mother died 28 years ago today. I was 12. I am 40. The song of grief never ends, but the tone most certainly shifts. Grief is dark and empty and bright and full.

The tune begins with cacophony, cymbals clashing, timpani drums, trash can lids, a baby crying, trees falling, all asynchronous and chaotic. Then silence. Total unknowing. Then it progresses into a minor key, and that could last a year or two or ten. Could be a single E minor chord or something more dissonant. There are a lot of factors and no song is the same. Maybe more silence, or maybe you can’t hear the tune for awhile, or you forget it or block it out. A tonal shift to a major key occurs after a year or two or ten, and it’s spring time, and the baby’s cry turns to laughter and then into the giggles of 6 and 8 year old boys being tickled on a bed.

The song never ends — and for me, 28 years into the music, I find myself singing, teaching my boys the tune, and dancing.