Music’s Role in Grief or The Day the Music Died (with apologies to Don McLean)

I have shared before that I come from a musical family which instilled in me a love for music.  My parents were both involved in church choir and often my dad was used as a soloist.  It was a yearly tradition to have dad sing a-cappella, “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” at Christmas time. He would always put such emotion in it.

I hold dear, from earliest recollections, singing in the series of children’s and youth church choirs at First Baptist/Orlando under the wonderful tutelage of Alberta and Ed Irey.  All of the choirs began with “C”:

Celestial

Cherub 1

Cherub 2

Crusader

Carol

Choralier

Concord

(FBC/Orlando choir alumni, correct my 50 year old remembrances if I have the names wrong)

I won awards for perfect attendance and hymns memorized.  There were the coveted harps with stars that were put on your choir robe like chevrons on a military sleeve.  There were statuettes of the famous composers you were awarded like baseball trophies. I remember going to Harmony Bay music camp at Lake Yale due to receiving so many points accrued throughout a year of church choir. It was an enjoyable and educational musical upbringing that the Ireys’ provided to me and countless other children that attended First Baptist in the 60’s and 70’s.

Karen and her family, as well, had a deep love for music, particularly instrumental music.  Karen’s mom made sure that each of her daughters learned how to play the piano and organ.

It was at a church choir, called “New Wind”, sponsored by First Baptist, that I first saw Karen, and quickly knew she would be the one for me.  So you can see music was instrumental in bringing Karen and me together (pun fully intended)!

After we married and began my church ministry, Karen dutifully and beautifully, played the piano and/or organ at several of the churches I served so each of our children naturally acquired a love for music.  Ben and Katie would sing in the church choirs and they both took piano lessons.  Katie, in particular, embraced her talent and would also sing in the school choruses.

When we found out about the medical challenges that Jacob would face when he came into this world, music began to be a salve and a refuge for us.  We would draw needed strength from songs like,

Because He Lives   

How sweet to hold a newborn baby, And feel the pride and joy he brings;
But greater still the calm assurance: This child can face uncertain days because He Lives!

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father, There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not; As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Then as Jacob made it through each surgery we would sing our praise and thankfulness to God and soon Jacob also joined the family in exhibiting a great love for music of any kind – Christian, Country, but particularly musical theater!  What was especially ironic was that Jacob’s musical voice was terrible due to the many intubations he experienced after each surgery.  But his chorus teachers would always put him on the front row – partly due to his small stature, but mostly due to his facial expression in singing.  He could brighten the entire stage!

And his facial expressions in singing worship songs at church would often stir others to a deeper sense of worship when he caught their eye.  I have had numerous people come tell me that they had sensed the presence of God in a special way when they gazed over at the first row of the balcony on the piano side where Jacob would always sit at First Baptist/Powder Springs and see his countenance beaming his love for God in spite of a raspy voice.  He truly praised God with a joyful noise!

BUT THEN THE DAY CAME THAT THE MUSIC DIED  ….

On this day seven years ago, Jacob was in ICU at Egleston, undergoing treatment to try to reverse the rejection his body was inflicting on his second transplanted heart.  He had just endured his first round of treatment with Karen and me by his side when he suddenly gasped and his body seized up rigidly.  I remember lightly slapping his face desperately trying to get him to snap out of whatever he was experiencing.  The team of doctors and nurses rushed in, escorted the two of us out to the other side of the hall, and began, ultimately in vain, to counter his cardiac arrest as we watched and wept helplessly. He was gone.

On that day, the music died for me. I have tried to explain what I mean by that before.

 (see http://embracinggrief.blogspot.com/2015/02/what-wicked-and-worship-have-in-common.html)

Since Jacob’s death I have not been able to worship through singing.  When I attend a worship service and they begin the singing portion of the service, I am transported back to the sanctuary of First Baptist/Powder Springs and I see Jacob, with his arms raised in worship and praise to God. I see him with his eyes shut tight as he positioned himself alone in worship to his Creator and Sustainer.  That vision never fails to steal my voice and pierce my heart.  I am, at once, thankful for his worship of God and the knowledge that he is now in the heavenly choir worshiping God with a strong and healthy voice… but I am also stricken with a new wave of grief as I sorely miss my son.

There are some songs that can lead me to worship through the hearing and meditating on their words but those words rarely escape my lips. Here are two for example:

Blessed be Your name, When the sun's shining down on me.
When the world's 'all as it should be', Blessed be Your name.

Blessed be Your name, On the road marked with suffering.
Though there's pain in the offering, Blessed be Your name.  (Matt Redman)

Or another one …

The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear; And I don't know the reason why You brought me here.
But just because You love me the way that You do; I'm gonna walk through the valley if You want me to.

It may not be the way I would have chosen; When You lead me through a world that’s not my home

But You never said it would be easy; You only said I’d never go alone.   (Ginny Owens)

Then, as a result of Jacob’s love for musical theater, there are other songs (or certain phrases in songs) in some Broadway productions that rip the scab off and renew the pain of grief, such as:

Defying Gravity (from Wicked)

Because I Knew You (from Wicked)

Bring Him Home (from Les Miserables)

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (from Les Miserables)

Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (from Phantom of the Opera)

Some would ask why we inflict such pain on ourselves when all we need to do is avoid those plays or songs.  And for those people, that is entirely logical.  But for someone who has lost a loved one, part of enduring the pain those songs or other “grief triggers” we experience actually brings us closer to our loved one in those fleeting moments and the tears we shed are a mixture of pain and the residue of sweet memories.

 

It’s been seven years. In some ways, it feels like a lifetime ago.  So much has changed in our lives – new home, new place, and new people in our lives.  And we’ve lost friends and family as well. All of this Jacob has not been a part of. Yet the grief still lingers, his presence is ever with us.  He is in our music. He is still a part of the conversation. And he always will be. 

Missing you today …. and every day … but today in particular.