Now what?
I’m stuck in an emotional chasm between memories and ‘next steps’ or to be completely candid, my own ‘bucket list’. God, I hate that colloquial term, yet sometimes it fits.
I write and stop, then write some more only to succumb to paralysis as I hear a song my father loved or see his favorite fun food at the grocery store which smacks me with emotion. So strong I can almost smell Virginia wind, a backyard, cherry blossom season…I can literally smell these memories more than Ray Bradbury’s The Veldt.
Music triggers most memories. Music was such a big part of our family. Everyone played an instrument. I gave up piano lessons when I needed to train several hours a day with swimming and today regret it. My Dad played guitar and drums and my Mom played all the classics on piano.
The first concert was Huey Lewis and the News. My Dad then took me to Santana, then Eric Clapton (3rd row!), on and on. That’s how it went. Mom was Jesus Christ Superstar, Annie, and much Shakespeare, and he was the Rock n’ Roll. Fine with me. I got the best of both worlds.
I grew up listening to George Benson, Stevie Wonder, Joan Baez, Crystal Gayle, Peter Frampton, every Beatles album, Fleetwood Mac, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and so many in his eclectic collection.
His love for music passed on profoundly.
My father, although a pilot for profession, wrote original songs and was quite a prolific poet; his love for lyrics and words are in my bones, as well.
Now what? I need to learn notes again. It’s been a beyond prolonged time; I’m terrified regarding this longing and desire for my remaining allotted time.
I’ve been told, this ‘Now what?’ is a mini ‘existential crisis’ not to be avoided. Death does that. It’s sad, weird, healthy and inspiring all at the same time. It becomes this psychological concoction that propels our humanity forward. So after 3 months since my father’s passing, I am learning to grieve forward — to strive for the next season of my own life while reflecting and grieving a parent’s life that created so much of mine. No small feat.
Before my father died, I had promised him, “I’d tell our stories.” He said, “I’d like that. Oh, please tell them.”
Tally Ho!
And as my old swimming coach used to say, “Onward and upward.”
-CNS
Fashion Stories & Dirty Laundry 