Songs of Significance

Music is a huge part of my life, as it was for my brother. Soon after his death, I went searching on the Web for songs about loss and grieving, knowing music is very therapeutic for me. Unfortunately, many song lists I came upon were either religiously-oriented with lyrics that don't help me, just plain bad tunes, or were actually too depressing.

I soon realized what I was really searching for was music that was cathartic, raw, intense, emotional, and maybe even uplifting. I found some songs that had wonderful lyrics about losing a loved one. Other songs just felt right because they stirred something inside. Some were from musicians my brother loved which made them more meaningful to me. Indeed, some of these songs listed below make me cry, but an important thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is that you have to let the sadness present itself when it's obviously close-by. Don't fight it. Allow it to wash over you like an incoming tide, and then let it recede. And it will recede, perhaps when the song ends...

Enjoy. And please feel free to add your own recommendations because I love learning about new music and this is definitely an ongoing project...

NOTE: Clicking on these links will open a new tab or window in your browser, directing you to Rhapsody, which will automatically start playing the song. If you want to come back to my blog, hit the back arrow or check back to your History. Or, better yet, just check these songs out on itunes.

Series of Dreams by Bob Dylan
River of Tears by Eric Clapton
Come Back by Pearl Jam
Stove By A Whale by Ted Leo
The Trees by Rush
Your Long Journey by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Hold On by Tom Waits
New World by DeVotchka
A Dream That Can Last by Neil Young & Crazy Horse
The Black Arts by Stereolab
My Hero by Foo Fighters
Amazing Grace by Judy Collins
Alright by Supergrass
Stay With Me by Spiritualized
Black Mirror by Arcade Fire
All You Ever Wanted by The Black Keys
There Goes the Fear by The Doves
Fake Empire by The National
Slow by The Broken West
What Is And What Should Never Be by Led Zeppelin
This River Is Wild by The Killers
Time to Stand Still by The Wood Brothers

Grief Expectations

This is a well-known list of what you can expect from your grief. I keep a copy of this with me and read it occasionally. Not everyone will experience all of these things but I can honestly say I certainly have during my grief journey.

You can expect that:

• Your grief will take longer than most people think.
• Your grief will take more energy than you would have ever imagined.
• Your grief will involve many changes and be continually developing.
• Your grief will show itself in all spheres of your life.
• Your grief will depend upon how you perceive the loss.
• You will grieve for many things both symbolic and tangible, not just the death alone.
• You will grieve for what you have lost already and for what you have lost for the future.
• Your grief will entail mourning not only for the actual person you lost but also for all of the hopes, dreams, and unfulfilled expectations you held for and with that person, and for the needs that will go unmet because of the death.
• Your grief will involve a wide variety of feelings and reactions, not solely those that are generally thought of as grief, such as depression and sadness.
• You may have a combination of anger and depression, such as irritability, frustration, annoyance, or intolerance.
• You may have a lack of self-concern.
• You may experience grief spasms, acute upsurges of grief that occur suddenly with no warning.
• You will have trouble thinking (memory, organization and intellectual processing) and making decisions.
• You may feel like you are going crazy.
• You may be obsessed by the death and preoccupied with the deceased.
• You may begin to search for meaning and may question your religion and/or philosophy of life.
• You may find yourself acting socially in ways that are different from before.
• You may find yourself having a number of physical reactions.
• You may find that there are certain dates, events, and stimuli that bring upsurges in grief.
• Society will have unrealistic expectations about your mourning and may respond inappropriately to you.
• Certain experiences later in life may resurrect intense grief for you temporarily.

In summary, your grief will bring with it, depending upon the combination of factors above, an intense amount of emotion that will surprise you and those around you.

A Special 30th Birthday Present

This is a glass float, about 12 inches wide. Japanese fisherman used these to keep their nets afloat in the early- to mid-1900’s. Recycled glass took the place of cork and wood. This one belonged to my brother. He had a collection of glass floats that he had found but this is by far the largest specimen.

On my brother’s 30th birthday, when he lived in Hawaii, friends took him fishing off the coast of Oahu. They spent hours out on the crystal blue Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately, he didn’t catch a thing all day. He was discouraged and exhausted—and miles from the shore. Then, in the distance, something caught his eye. It was shimmering on the surface of the water. They steered the boat toward the object. And there it was, this large glass float, with an albatross perched atop. It made his birthday.

New Roles

When you lose a loved one unexpectedly, and find yourself in a whole new world, you immediately take on new roles, perhaps even a new identity. Some changes are immediate and obvious, others are transitional, becoming exposed over time. It was one of my brother’s best friends, Dave, who called me on the evening of October 4th to tell me Bob was gone. A frightening phone call to say the least and one I will never forget. I was then the person responsible for calling my parents to tell them their son had died. It was a role no one wants to experience and a role I never thought I’d ever have to assume, obviously. Who wants to call their parents and be the bearer of the absolute worst news of their lives?

In the days following (from what I can remember— because this was a time of overwhelming confusion, absolute denial, and devoid of genuine thoughts) I found myself taking on roles I didn’t want but were absolutely necessary. Decisions had to be made and it was only my dad, my mom, and I to make them. We instantly became a different family. All of a sudden I didn’t have a brother and my parents became parents who had lost a child. My dad realized he had to handle Bob’s finances— bills, mortgages, credit cards, his company obligations (because my brother was a self-employed potter)­. While at Twiford’s Funeral Home on the Outer Banks, I took on the role of writing my brother’s obituary. How do you summarize someone’s life in a few paragraphs? You can’t. The three of us made the decision for Bob to be cremated which we knew was his wish anyway. We also decided not to see his body at the funeral home. These are decisions you have to make immediately after you find out your loved one has died. Here we were, in another reality, making decisions and talking about things so foreign and absurd. Where are we? What are we doing? Is this even real right now? I then helped my parents contact friends and family and organize memorial plans. Everything happens so quickly you have no time to even think clearly. We were on auto-pilot, on a plane bound for territory unknown, for lack of a better description.

My parents became responsible for selling Bob’s house which was eventually sold after much heartache and turmoil due to a contractor taking advantage of my family during such a fragile time—a disaster too painful to explain right now. Mom and dad also became new parents of my brother’s dog, Kona, a loving, hyper yellow lab mix puppy. I became the owner of most of Bob’s possessions, an experience I will share in another entry.

Family roles have shifted. We've become each other's psychiatrist, listening, understanding, and helping each other along the grief process. It's brought us closer if that was even possible. Another role I’ve taken on is now being the only child. I am the sole caretaker of my parents when they get to that point of not being able to care for themselves. I am the sole inheritor as well. And I instantly became the end of the line for the Hathaway name. It’s a lonely feeling. I wasn’t really thinking to have a child but should I reconsider? If I get married, should I keep my last name? These questions will be answered in due time, I suppose.

For now, just 2 1/2 years after my life was turned upside down, I’m still assuming new roles and learning how to adjust, feeling the weight of uncovered responsibility. Moreover, I realize my entire self has taken on a new identity. It may not be apparent from the outside, but deep in my core everything has drastically changed, every cell in my body has been altered.

Be Here Now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=peXBEox8_00

A wonderful song, "Be Here Now" which is the same phrase I have tattooed on my arm (in Sanskrit) and something that my brother had written me in a birthday card when I turned 17.

Past, Present, Future — Present

Everything along my life’s timeline has taken on a new meaning. I have an entirely new, albeit somewhat depressing, perspective on my past, present, and future.

The Present
Before my life turned upside down, I was living in the present. I can honestly say I tried to live every day to its fullest potential. That doesn’t mean I was jumping out of airplanes every chance I got, or attempting daredevil stunts, or doing anything and everything I could possibly do for tomorrow may never come. No. But I did live every day. I cherished every time my parents and my brother and I got together. I appreciated my life and never took anything nor anyone for granted. I’ve realized throughout my 34 years that life is indeed fragile and our time here on earth is indeed fleeting. But now, having lost my brother and having experienced firsthand what it feels like to have someone existing in my life one day and not the next, I’ve learned to trust the present. It’s here, and it’s all I’ve got.

I trust that I may awake in a fog but throughout the day, it’ll subside. I trust some days I will take one small step at a time, other days I’ll be leaping. I trust I’ll feel lonely in my sorrow but that I’m not entirely alone. I trust time will heal but the scar will forever exist. I trust my thoughts and feelings as my own, and whatever arises, accepting them for what they are, because they’ve originated from my very being. I trust that the sun will be in the sky, warming the atmosphere and encouraging the vitality of all living things. I trust that birds will go about their day, foraging for worms and building nests. And I trust the universe, in all its magnificence and ambiguity, because no one has all the answers. We’re just here, living in the present, gambling on trust.

Memorial Video

Click here to see the memorial video I made of Bob.

A Favorite Quote

"When the way comes to an end, change, and having changed, pass through." — Author Unknown

The above card can be found at the Smithsonian's Freer Sackler Gallery. http://www.asia.si.edu/

Past, Present, Future — Past

Everything along my life’s timeline has taken on a new meaning. I have an entirely new, albeit somewhat depressing, perspective on my past, present, and future.

The Past
Before my life turned upside down, my memories were of a warm, happy, innocent childhood. A childhood filled with much laughter, self-revelation, of a safe neighborhood where my friends and I could spend all summer playing outdoors, and of frequent fun family trips. Granted, my brother and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. He was 7 years older and really wanted nothing to do with me during his high school years. That was fine though because his neglect helped strengthen my independence and imagination. Moreover, he was my brother and eventually our relationship would evolve and I would come to realize my family life was the foundation of my happiness.

So this was my past as I knew it. It was secure. It was sacred. It was the past, unable to be changed. Until now. Because my brother is not physically here with me, when I think of my childhood now, it brings tears to my eyes. My memories have become delicate snapshots in time that only I can see and cherish. No longer do I have the opportunity to reminisce with my brother about funny moments and family vacations. No longer do I have the opportunity to learn new insights into our upbringing, making our bond even stronger. No longer do I have the opportunity to ask him about his memories of his childhood. I am alone with my past, a past that he and I once shared. And the fond memories have become hallucinations, nearly unrecognizable, revealing a frightening reality of what was and what is.