Do you ever feel as if you need a release from your grief, but it just isn't coming? It feels as if you are about to burst with pent up sadness and frustration. You know you need to have a good cry, but the tears are not cooperating. It's like emotional constipation. You just need to get it out to feel better. This is when I utilise what I call self-induced grief. It's pretty easy, actually, you just find a trigger that hasn't yet become a glimmer, or never will become a glimmer by its very nature, and you expose yourself to it. You know it will make you cry and you welcome that release. (See Triggers and Glimmers in previous post.)
For me, it is always a song...one of several that will reduce me to tears. Most of them would reduce me tears without the added sense of loss one feels after being widowed. But, being in the state of widowhood, the sadness is even more poignant.
You may have noticed that there are lyrics at the top of the home page now. I've chosen some lyrics that touch me deeply and play on all my emotions. And these are songs that make me cry. The first lyric that occupied that space was from Follies, a Stephen Sondheim musical. Sondheim always captures emotions. When he died, Mandy Patinkin said, "The guy who wrote my prayers has died. His words were my Torah. Sondheim wrote what he wished for himself and the world at large." I was still in the earlier days of my grief when Sondheim died. He was one of my heroes because he did exactly what Mr Patinkin said. I remember reading Mr Patinkin's words and echoing with my own, "He wrote my grief." So many of his songs portray grief beautifully, eloquently, sadly. Most of the time, the lyrics are about losing love, not losing a loved one. But the words still work. Listen to his "Not a Day Goes By" without welling up. Unless you are an ice cube, you won't be able to get through it without weeping.
Because I loved Broadway musicals, I knew about all the songs that would be best avoided immediately after Chris died. And, of course, I have discovered songs that didn't make me cry before, make me cry now. But it wasn't a Broadway musical song that hit me the hardest, that still hits me the hardest. It is a song "I Know You by Heart," written by Eve Nelson and Diane Scanlon and, at least in the version I know, sung by Eva Cassidy, whose own life was cut short by cancer.
I don't remember how I came upon the song. I had had a tape of the Songbird album, the album where the song was first released, and I must have heard it before, but it wasn't until after Chris died that it made such a huge impact on me. The song recounts a love over the seasons of the year, starting with a winter fire. Each stanza repeats "I know you by heart." The Spring verse starts with "Mornings in April" and continues with lyrics like "we laughed like children" and "the joy you gave me lives on and on." With that lyric, I am immediately transported to our first home in Scotland, with the field behind that served as home to the ewes and lambs in Spring, the calls of the lambs often sounding like laughter.
The final verse in about Autumn, opening with the line "You left in Autumn." Chris died just after the Autumn Solstice. The song concludes with "You're still here beside me every day, 'Cause I know you by heart." Hell, I can't even type that without shedding tears. This beautiful song is my go-to when I need a good cry. (Another tear jerker is 10,000 Miles, based on a traditional song, sung by Mary Chapin Carpenter.)
As much as I love that song, and all the others that touch me so deeply, I don't play them often. I never want to lose that sense of emotion when I listen. I never want to "get used" to these songs. I want them always and forever to remind me of how deeply I loved and how much I miss my Chris.
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I chose this piece of digital photo-art because it makes me feel sad. This abstract portrays Castle Ardvreck in the far northwest of Scotland. It was always one of our favourite spots. It was here that Chris told me he loved me for the first time. So, seeing it, whether in this interpretation or a traditional photograph, fills me with both joy and sadness.
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