The Day the Music Died

It still can be hard for me to listen really listen to good music. I practically burst into tears immediately. Music is ingrained in my soul, part of my DNA make-up, partially from my mom, who is an avid lover of all kinds, but probably mostly from my dad, who came from a muscial family and was a musician himself. He taught himself guitar (with the help of his older brothers) and had this hauntingly beautiful voice that had incredible range. We grew up listening to it singing worship songs for the Saturday evening mass at church. We would sit, entranced, and listen to him sing in my parent's bedroom, cosy and intimate, a concert just for us. He would ask us what we wanted him to play, and we would say, "I don't know, something" and he would begin "Something" by the Beatles. Other times, he would tease me and say how he usd to sing this song back when I loved, when I was a baby, "Ripplin' Waters" by John Denver. After he put new strings on, he would break them in with Dan Fogelburg, A song I can never remember it's name..."do do do do doo " helpful, I know.

Music just doesn't ring the same way for me anymore.
That's one reason I can't listen to it. If HE hadn't heard it, is it worth hearing?

Two months after I married my second best friend, we found out that my very best friend, in ways neither of us could really understand, was dying. I spend every minute available with him in those last weeks. I fought with work, school and practically abandoned my new husband. He died with all of us around him, then coming to us in spirit after he had left his body. I felt peace, calmness, love. I could go on.
I remember now.


I have cried too...I have cried too long
I have cried too...I have cried too long
No more sorrow...got to carry on