My Song

I was watching America's Got Talent last night. They closed the show with a 12 year-old opera singer. Of course they showed the obligatory, tear-inducing back story of the girl before she sang. She spoke of her grandfather who had first played opera for her and encouraged her to sing and develop her skill. Then she spoke of her grandfather's passing and how it affected her. She said that at least when she sings, it's as if her grandfather is still with her. Naturally I (and I assume half of America) was in tears before the kid uttered a single note. I wept because I know exactly how she feels.

This is my mom on the day I was born.  She looks pretty damn good for a woman who just spent 38 hours in labor.

My mom was a singer.  So were her sisters and brothers.  Her whole family is musical.  My mom put my sister and I in our first choir almost as soon as we could speak.  We fell in love with music.  I sang from the age of 5 up until I finished high school. I even competed vocally from 8th grade-12th.  But then I went off to college and became distracted by work and exams and boys.  Music just kind of fell out of my life.  I regret that.

Part of my world came crashing down the day before Thanksgiving in 2001.  My mom went into the hospital for minor out-patient surgery.  At least it was supposed to be minor.  Things went horribly wrong.  She ended up having emergency open heart surgery. They intubated her, which involves sliding a tube down the trachea through the vocal chords.  She was intubated on a ventilator for weeks. It did permanent damage to her vocal chords and she was never able to sing again.  At least, not like she had once upon a time.  She survived, but she was no longer the mom that I knew.  She wasn't the mom that sang me to sleep so many years ago.

My mom died 9 1/2 years later.  It was a Sunday.  Suddenly I had to plan a funeral.  I had to select her favorite verses of scripture, pick the perfect flowers, and, of course, the right music.  That part was easy. My mom and I share the same favorite hymns.  My cousin asked if we would like her to sing at the funeral.  Of course we said yes.  By that point I was exhausted by the process of saying goodbye to my mother so I told my cousin to pick whatever song she would like to perform.  My cousin didn't tell me what she intended to sing, and I didn't ask, so I didn't find out what she had selected until I heard the opening bars. She chose Amazing Grace.  It's actually rather ironic.  My mother hated Amazing Grace.  No, I think hate is too strong a word.  She felt that it was overused and had lost its resonance.  Regardless, she wouldn't have wanted it at her funeral. My sister and I looked at each other wide-eyed with a look of  'Oh s**t.  What do we do?' But we were sitting in a packed funeral chapel surrounded by family and friends and our cousin was already signing her heart out.  So we just sat there and tried not to laugh.  It became our little secret.

Music is a powerful thing.  It has the power to instantly transport you back to a specific moment. Now all it takes is hearing any number of songs that my mom loved and, just like that 12 year-old opera singer, I feel her with me.  The connection is so strong that sometimes I have to remind myself that she's not there. Then again, maybe she is.

I'm no longer part of a formal choir or musical group. I sing for myself now. All the time. Incessantly. Just ask any of my past coworkers. I sing to make myself happy.  I sing because to stop would be to lose a part of myself. There's a song I performed at OMEA competition (all you music nerds are familiar, I'm sure) that I think sums it up.

     For as long as I have music
     As long as there's a song for me to sing
     I can find my way, I can see a brighter day
     The music in my life will set my spirit free.