Music to Grieve By

 

            There’s a soundtrack for the movie of our grief. In the beginning of grief, there were certain songs that we played over and over to hold ourselves together, to comfort us, remember, and cry. Our playlist changed over the months as we felt the need for encouragement, inspiration, and challenge. And there are those specific songs that turn us into a slobbering, blubbering mess even long after we have pieced our life back together. 

Right after my wife died of a heart attack in her 40s, I couldn’t listen to any songs that had lyrics because the words all seemed to be about love — finding, having, or losing it — and they pulled me down into a rabbit hole. Music was treacherous because it was filled with emotions, and I had enough trouble controlling my own. I didn’t need more stirred up. 

 

Sometimes, the only sound I could bear was silence. And I found that silence had its own presence. In the quiet darkness there was solitude, and the trauma of death and the unmooring of grief settled down to where I could sit with them and begin to understand.

 

The music of nature was different. As I walked through the woods listening to the songs of the birds, the trickling of a creek, and the breeze moving through the trees, space opened up where I could breathe. The sounds of the natural world were comforting, and reminded me that life would continue to go on when I was ready. Often at night I would stand outside and listen to the stars and planets in the darkness of the universe, hoping to hear Ev’s voice.

 

When we can’t find words to express what we’re feeling, music often can.

 

In the beginning, I preferred simple tunes that didn’t barge in, but allowed me to center myself and reflect on what I was going through. I wanted to understand what grief was doing each day. I wanted the intensity of grief to lead somewhere, to mean something and open a door. These songs were just there, in the background, helping me focus. Later on, I wanted songs that had a discernable rhythm because my feet wanted a cadence for walking.

 

A surprise discovery was instrumental Celtic tunes. I was familiar with some of them before, but now I found them consoling and rather therapeutic. The songs on the CDs I bought often wove three tunes together, and reminded me that there was more to life than just the sorrow that had taken my life over. If the first tune was upbeat and inviting, the second was moody and melancholy, while the third was affirming. My take was that the Celtic people had learned, through centuries of trauma, that every day there would be something to mourn and something to celebrate, and to neglect one was to negate the other. Their songs helped me grieve and hold on to hope.

 

Music expresses the sounds of death, but also of liberation. 

 

When Turlough O’Carolan, a blind 16^th century musician, was asked why he played joyful music during a dark time in Ireland, he said that people needed to be reminded that one day the dark times would end.

 

When I was writing the memoir of my grief, each chapter had its own feeling, its own music, and I began to pair specific songs to each. There were chapters about shock, despair, and loss, and the famous five stages that went through anger, sadness, and acceptance. The music for birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays injected their own energy and sadness throughout the first year.

 

Music has its own language that bypasses the mind and speaks directly to the heart.

 

            The music that was important to you will not match my playlist, although there will be similarities, depending upon what generation you belong to. For example, the music from the 1940s that my mom and dad found extremely sad and moved them to tears, because of connections to the trauma of World War II, just sound nostalgic to me.

 

I suspect that if we played all the songs that were meaningful to us in sequence, this would convey the feelings of grief to someone who had never lost someone close as well as our words, and perhaps do better. During the first 18 months of grief, my music ranged from Celtic to classical to folk to smooth jazz. There wasn’t much in there that was celebratory. That music came later. 

 

What were your favorite songs? Which ones hit you the hardest? Which songs brought you comfort and hope? These are some of the early songs that helped me grieve:

 

Ashokan Farewell

Jim Chappell’s solo piano piece Gone

Death Cab for Cuties - Love of Mine

Piazzolla - Oblivion

The Butterfly – a Celtic Tune played on violin and harp 

Tom Waits – The Heart of Saturday Night

Procol Harum – Whiter Shades of Pale

Arvo Part – In Memoriam Benjamin Britten 

Turlough O’Carolan – Planxty Burke/Planxty Drew

Chris Rea – On the Beach

Sarah McLachlan – I Love You

Andrew Lloyd Webber – Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas – Highlander’s Farewell