Just one more mornin’ I had to wake up with the blues
Greg Allman
Thursday morning was just like many, feeling the emptiness of a moment I used to enjoy, saying good morning to the one I love. But also like some other mornings in the past year and a half, I was singing Dreams in my head. Not only do the lyrics speak to me at some level, the music is entrancing.
Just one more mornin’ I had to wake up with the blues Pulled myself outta bed, yeah Put on my walkin’ shoes
Went up on the mountain To see what I could see The whole world was fallin’ Right down in front of me
‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams I’ll never see, yeah, baby Ah, help me, baby Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah
Pull myself together Put on a new face Climb down off the hilltop, baby Get back in the race
‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams I’ll never see, yeah, baby, yeah Ah, help me, baby Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah
Pull myself together Put on a new face Climb down off the hilltop, baby Get back in the race
‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams I’ll never see, yeah, baby, oh Ah, help me, baby Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah
Greg Allman
I am not a blues artist. I am a fan of some southern rock, The Allman Brothers in particular. I was fortunate to have seen them multiple times in the early 70’s. Pam’s brother, Dave, gifted me with prints of Duane and Greg Allman that he meticulously crafted (Dave German Art). So many of the great guitar players and song writers of my generation learned their trade by listening to, and playing, the blues. But I am not writing this about that genre, rather, how the lyrics and music express how I feel.
Blue is how I feel these days. It’s not all I feel. I have a love of life – of my life – even as it so deeply hurts to live it without Pam. I enjoy my surroundings. I enjoy being and interacting with family and neighbors. I might even be making new friends!
Many routines are now metamorphized extensions of those we used to share. Which, of course, make me sad that I perform them alone. Even such things as doing the dishes or making the bed leave me feeling empty and blue. But often I also smile that I still perform them. Not necessarily exactly as she would have or how we might do them together. But they, as she, are part of the fabric of my being.
I am crying more often again these days. I miss Pam so much. Sure, life goes on. Much of what I am is good, better having known her and been loved by her. Sadness engulfs me without warning. Any of the many things such as those mentioned above trigger its onset. Such a paradox. Living and loving life. I rue Pam’s death to the depths of my being.
Last July I wrote a note of expression, “Letting go means giving up on all your dreams.” Sharing that with someone close to me, she suggested that I’m not giving up all my dreams, only those I had for Pam and me together. That may be true. They are/were more important than mine alone. And those I still cling to, such as creating and performing my music, are emptier now without her. I guess I’m still “hung up on dreams I’ll never see.” But it surely won’t be “the end of me.”
I live without Pam, and with her, and in honor of her. Yet, I dream.
Our daughter and her partner came for a visit on their way back from a seminar in Indianapolis. Please direct your thoughts and prayers for Greg’s daughter, Val, as she fights a medical battle!
Knowing of this visit in advance, Kelley and Greg brought a covered pickup truck to take the last of the boxes filled with Pam’s stamping materials and a bunch of holiday decorations I no longer want, but may have sentimental value to other family members. I prepared a spread of smoked brisket, pulled pork, and baby back ribs, with sides of beans, corn, and Texas toast. Way more than we could eat, but they took home the leftovers. I had the rare pleasure of preparing the meal and having people visit!
Just a few days prior, I considered they might be able to use some of the extra furniture, specifically, Pam’s office chair and her recliner. The ones matching mine. I’ve been looking at it with trepidation for over seventeen months now (more on that a bit later). As Kelley and Greg hauled boxes from downstairs, I dismantled the recliner. A wave of sadness gripped me (and still does as I write this), realizing another loss related to losing my dear Pam. I broke down crying even before we had a chance to get the chair out the door! So hard to let go, but I knew I had to.
Then, off they went. And, due to my nature, I could not let things remain in disarray. Get out the vacuum. Rearrange. Tidy up. Good for my psyche. More crying. I found myself saying, “I’m not getting rid of ‘you’, I’m just getting rid of stuff.” And don’t worry. There are many reminders of Pam still here. Many things we bought or created together. Things that meant a lot to her. Things I still use and enjoy every day.
Having completed my rearranged “therapy”, I took a picture and sent it to Kelley so she could see the change. I also sent it to my sister by text, knowing she would like to visualize the new configuration. She replied, “All yours now.” I must admit that it stung to read those words. But I know she meant well and, reflecting later, I realized that it is true. The transformation of this house, from ours to mine, is pretty much complete. Basically, every room now has my personality stamped on it. I know not what additional changes I will make. Hopefully, I won’t add too much “stuff!”
I took a walk around the neighborhood on that sunny, cool, autumn Sunday afternoon after all of the commotion. It dawned on me that last Thursday was October 12th, seventeen months since Pam died. For the first time, a monthly anniversary passed without my acknowledgement. Another milestone – one that passed without notice!
The evening was filled with sorrow for missing Pam! I sat in my chair and cried. I may be further along some continuum of recovery, but the pain is still sharp when it rears up. I miss her nearly every hour of every day. Yet I go on with my rearranged life alone in my rearranged house. Again I say, Pam wanted it this way. Every time I notice something of hers, something of ours that we acquired and enjoyed together, when I do things around the house the way she would (and obviously “trained” me), I have to say, “I love you, Pam.” Rearranged life or not.
It takes so many forms, and affects so many aspects of learning to live with major loss.
Written in the journal I keep by my living room recliner on September 29th, the statement continues to resonate as the days have passed since then. The journal itself is a gift from my son and is from his trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderfully hand-made leather book of empty white pages bound by a leather tie, that I, being left-handed, turn upside down to write on the pages from right to left. I’ve been adding entries periodically since last October.
At times I’ve thought that being in this house exacerbates the ongoing reminders of Pam missing out on our retirement years, of the emptiness I feel as the months go by without her, of the forfeiture of my hopes and dreams of our future together – of my future alone. I constantly change things around, rearrange the bedroom furniture, new linen and quilt, some of the wall hangings. I have changed the towels, mats, and shower curtain more than once in the last year, trying to change what was ours into what is now only mine. But I still get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. Getting into the shower, grab bars still in place, reminds me of Pam’s last year when she needed help with her intimate needs. The grab bars remain as an admission that I, too, am aging and admit the potential need for assistance, another reminder of having to make do on my own.
But it’s not the house, now my home. Reminders are everywhere. Go to a restaurant, a park, visit a friend, go bowling – which we enjoyed so much together. As I found out many years ago during my rebellious time as a youth, being happy, being “good” or “bad”, loving and hating , etc. are not dependent on location or one’s lot in life. Extricating myself from everything I know and have in life does not eliminate what is going on inside my head and heart.
Nearly seventeen months after Pam’s passing, I continue to live hour by hour, day by day. Some are better than others. And though I have few elated moments, I can still slip into despair that I cannot live up to what I think is worthy of Pam’s love and faith in me.
As she and I discussed, and I have mentioned before, I knew, and it has come to pass, that I am not the same person without her, not as “good” as I felt when bolstered by her love and presence in my life. Just this week my sister reminded me that Pam knew me, knew my weaknesses, knew my strengths, and loved me for who I am. Those things she saw in me are still part of me.
I believe this is why I am able to continue to get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. It is why I continue to reshape my surroundings to reflect who I am without her, still not understanding who that is. Yes. Grief is my relentless companion. But Pam’s love, the love and support of my family and friends, and my own will to live keep grief from having complete dominion over me.
On a lighter tack, as part of my process of carving out a new life without Pam, I recently attended a 55+ luncheon at the rec center. I’m pretty sure that at age 69, I was the youngest attendee. Lunch was catered and, I still can hardly believe it, I played Bingo after lunch and even won a round!
Two positive outcomes emerged as a result of my attending. A nice man named Frank took the initiative to sit with me during the luncheon. He recognized that I was new and graciously helped me feel less alone. He is twice widowed! Frank invited me to join a seniors bowling league, either bowling for at team, or as a sub. Three weeks ago I did just that, substituted for someone who could not bowl for their team. I bowled poorly, but I have always enjoyed bowling, and the challenge of being better at it than I am. I’ve now been there three weeks in a row and am known as a “regular” substitute available to anyone who cannot attend. My bowling has improved significantly since the first week and I look forward to subbing again next week. I’m getting familiar with some of the people there, have heard a few stories about their losses, and I am becoming familiar to them.
But this positive aspect of my new life is still tainted by my relentless companion. Pam and I used to enjoy bowling together with family and as members of church leagues. She was quite the bowler with the straightest delivery I have ever seen. Starting down the middle and barely wavering by a board! It is hard to avoid the guilt of enjoying bowling without her. An example of how life is changed and grief lingers.
In addition to my new social interactions, I received an email, through this web site address, wutjavia@gmail.com, from the 55+ luncheon coordinator, the only person attending who was clearly younger than I! I had given her my Wutjavia card after the event. It turns out that Bingo is not the only weekly luncheon entertainment. Guest speakers are invited to present, I suppose, just about anything, to the luncheon audience. She perused this site, read about my Glacier travels, and has asked me to present a travel log of my choosing to the group, inclusive of narrative and pictures. And though it won’t be delivered until sometime early next year, I enthusiastically agreed to do it.
One of the blessings of being with Pam was our mutual respect for the things we loved as individuals. She had her stamping and greeting cards. They were amazing outpourings of her love of people and of life. She attended conferences with her stamping friends, conducted online research, bought incredible tools, paper, and stencils, and created phenomenal works of art that she gave freely to others to honor special occasions, or just “thinking about you.” Sometimes she even asked for my advice on a design, or to hold paper or ribbon while she attached them to a card.
I had my travels (and my music), mostly to mountainous regions, camping and backpacking. With camera attached at the ready, I hoped to capture, as much as a picture can, amazing landscapes, vistas, and animals experienced along the way. And though she hated me being gone, and in potential danger, Pam encouraged me and supported me each year as I planned, either on my own or with my son, then departed on another adventure. She used to make “car treat” bags with anything from Pez candy to mini tissue packs, games and booklets. Anything she thought we might enjoy and laugh at as we drove many hours to our mountain destinations.
Now, though I am constantly reminded of what I have lost, I also remember what I/we had and can at least get a glimpse of a life that continues to evolve, with grief as my relentless companion.
The heat has broken. It finally feels like autumn, though still no rain here. It’s been two weeks since returning from Atlanta. Home alone reality is setting in. Pam passed away nearly sixteen months ago. Apparently, life goes on.
If there is a new normal, hopefully this isn’t it. To do lists have many checked boxes. Though there is more to be done before winter sets in. Daily routines are established, varying slightly from week to week for appointments and brief getaways. But the familiarity and comfort of established norms do not stave off the sadness and ache of missing Pam, nor the sorrow of her missing out on life. In some way, it seems the intensity has grown.
So much has been written describing grief, many pictures and animations. One such depiction arrived this week in a text message.
What to make of this? Where’s the fit? If the graphic is accurate, the message true, then some point along a continuum should be recognizable. But not. Life apparently goes on, but has yet to grow big enough to assuage the pain of loss. Conversely, if grief diminishes over time, apparently life must go on a long time before it begins to smother the grief. Either way, it’s a struggle to relate.
Sometimes anger wells up amidst the sadness and sorrow. How could she be taken away?! Were we not all the better for her presence in this life? Yes, we were! Yes, we are!
On the Other Hand
Better memories of Pam are emerging as time passes. Earlier pictures are reminders of happier times. Every one depicting the beautiful person she was, a beacon of kindness and compassion. One should hope to be such a person. Though she was so loving, and so loved, she was so much better than she ever thought she was. That, too, is part of her beauty.
So all is not just gloom and doom. Life cannot be all bad (though the news sources seem to differ) when such amazing people sojourn among us. We just have to recognize their positive contributions to our lives; enjoy their nature. Live to honor their lives. Live in hope that the circle will somehow, some day, grow to comfort us, to buffer us from the pain and sorrow of our grief.
Further Reflection
All of the above was written earlier in the week. Consideration was given to tossing it all out as being too depressing. But no. It stands as is. But said again, all is not just gloom and doom! Much enjoyment comes from the home we shared, now home alone. Much joy is felt when talking to and being with family and friends. Neighbors are friendly and encouraging. Autumn is a beautiful time of year in Iowa. And though it foreshadows winter, it also holds its own beauty for us to enjoy.
Now. Here’s the test. Can you figure out the missing word in this week’s post? You may post a comment in response. Or, if you would like to submit your guess privately, send a message at wutjavia@gmail.com.
Have a great week!!! Here’s hoping for happier topics as life go on.
Cliche? I suppose. But descriptive none-the-less. Many ideas crisscross in my mind, flitting this way and that. Some just disappear. Others, I summarily dismiss. I could use the excuse that I was traveling last week and didn’t have time to write. But that would be only partially true. Truer still is that I couldn’t even decide on a topic.
I could write about my trip to Atlanta to visit family and help around the house while my sister recuperated from her surgery. The visit was good. My sister came through great. It was a nice visit. But I don’t feel like discoursing our interactions or daily activities while I was there. I did get to see Oppenheimer with two of my sisters. That was a special time to share together. Good movie.
I thought about laying out my thoughts about bacon, kinds, types, flavors, and how I missed it while away. I have a couple slices nearly every morning at home. We discussed bacon at the dinner table one evening. The topic of beef bacon came up. Click the link if you are interested. Personally, I prefer “real” bacon. My favorite is Hormel Black Label Cherrywood Thick Cut. I buy it a dozen at a time at Menard’s when they have it. I could go on with this topic, but don’t deem it worthy of more.
I’ve been thinking a lot about a new normal, hoping for extended emotional stability, enough so that I recognize various phases, ups and downs; consistency, rather than in throws. But I haven’t found it yet. Maybe I’ll be able to write about that when I recognize it – if it is found. Meanwhile, I am still day by day, not dwelling too much on the past nor looking too far into the future. Both directions give rise to discomfort that I can only tolerate in small portions.
Not only am I rambling because I don’t have clear direction, but I am reverting to the dreaded “I” at the beginning of my paragraphs. Yep. Take a look. And though I am hard on myself for being egocentric and unworthy of praise, I continue to receive compliments for looking good (maybe for my age?), for my efforts to help others, and the gift of music and song. But knowing myself, I have to downplay the accolades because they feed my egocentricity. Kind of a vicious circle. I do, however, appreciate others’ kind words, and know that without them, I would probably be very depressed in deed!
So, even with writer’s block, I managed to write 419 words leading up to this paragraph. I guess it means that the title is apt. I wrote about a bunch of unrelated thoughts because I have no other clear topic.
Well, hopefully next week. I did hear from some readers who wondered if I would have a post since the normal Saturday deadline had come and gone. Even knowing that my no-posts are missed, makes me feel a little better. Now I’m off to get back in the groove. Search for topics gleaned from my daily life.
From my reading, it appears that the differences between a caregiver and a caretaker are subtle. Two significant differences are that a caretaker’s charge might be an animal or a building rather than a person, and that the caretaker expects to be compensated for their efforts.
Both caregivers and caretakers aid people needing assistance with daily tasks, from doing laundry and preparing meals, to personal hygiene and grooming needs. But the caregiver is typically more emotionally invested, expecting no reward, than the caretaker who’s primary motivation is their own need, i.e. monetary compensation. This is not to say that caretakers are not caring or empathetic, nor emotionally attached to their charges. Nor is it true that caregivers are never compensated. Thus continue the subtle differences between the two. In fact, the two terms are often used interchangeably.
Distinguishing between the two became a topic of conversation for my sister and me during my recent visit to Atlanta. She IS my Mother’s caregiver, having taken her into her home over four years ago. My sister needed a medical procedure that required a recuperation period in which she could not lift or twist her upper body. And though her husband often assists with daily responsibilities, and our sister provides weekly respite relief, they also work and are unable to be “on call” for daily tasks.
And so I offered to help out. Shortly after my arrival, I began relearning the routine implemented to provide for my Mother’s needs. I would execute it while my sister and her husband were away. So when the day arrived I got up early to ensure that breakfast was on the table just so, and I was ready to help with her inhaler.
As the day progressed, I realized I had transitioned seamlessly and nearly effortlessly back into the caregiver role I learned while caring for my late wife, Pam. Seamless because I only realized it later in the day. Nearly effortless in that Mom’s needs are different than Pam’s, and my sister’s home is laid out differently and the kitchen configured differently than my home. Otherwise, my demeanor, and the methods I employed to care for my Mother, came back naturally.
Reflecting, later, on this transformation, I made two observations. First, I learned valuable skills while caring for Pam that I could use to assist others as a part-time caregiver/caretaker if I so choose. Second, I have neither the desire nor will to be a full-time caregiver again.
As I revisit the caregiver role, and observe and talk with my sister, I am reminded of the emotional and physical toll being a 24/7 caregiver takes. One truly has to put another’s needs about one’s own, even potentially at physical and emotional detriment.
My sister’s procedure was successful and without incident. I continue to assist with Mom’s care, and also with helping my sister do those tasks she should not be performing while recuperating.
I am thankful that my sister’s procedure went well. I am thankful to have the opportunity to step in when her physical need could not be delayed – could not be ranked below Mom’s care. I am thankful for the knowledge, wisdom, and compassion I learned while caring for Pam, though I wish it had not been necessary! But I also realize that if someone close to me has need, I could and would transition back into a caregiver role with little or no hesitation.
Much as I want to share my experiences on other subjects, like Windmill Choreography, I cannot escape my feelings of emptiness and loss. Today they spilled out in some poetic form. I’ll work on travels and windmills, family and friends, beauty in life (and death), and other such things. But today I woke to a description of my current reality. And thus I share.
She Won't Be Back AgainFrom dreamless sleep I waken
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again
The sun is shining
The breeze is blowing
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again
I see her in her children
Grandchildren carry on
And the nightmare continues
She won't be back again
Talking to an empty room
The pain of her absence lingers
And the nightmare continues
She won't be back again
Looking at pictures of her
She smiling back at me
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again
Laying down to slumber
Dim the lights, mute the sound
Dreamless sleep a solace
In the morning the nightmare resumes
She will never be back again
I continue to cry. So many reminders do me in. The world continues to turn. Its inhabitants go on with their lives. So many seemingly impactful events unfold every day. I am aware of them but they seem less important than my grieving. And though I still wear the grease-paint, “I hurt all the time deep inside.”
Next week I’ll have another opportunity to be more cheerful in my musings. One can hope! Until then, know that I continue to ride the wakeful waves of dreams and nightmares. I hope for good dreams and wakeful states for all of you this week and beyond.
The final cut from Long Distance Voyager by The Moody Blues, along with its two preceding songs, are among my all-time favorites. They reflect the internal turmoil of a performer. However, they are also reflective of struggles I am confident we all wrestle with, at least from time to time. No doubt this series of recordings influenced my creation of Chameleon, which describes a person who changes colors to fit into various social situations.
For many years I described my musical affinity as the “Veteran Cosmic Rocker.” Even today, I can relate to keeping a smiling face and demeanor as I struggle with so many new challenges in my life. I invite you to read the lyrics and listen to the combined YouTube video.
Painted Smile
I can sing, I can dance
Just give me a chance
To do my turn for you
There's a chance I'll slip
But with stiff upper lip
I'll sing my song for you
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
And no one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
I've shed a tear for the lying
While everyday trying
To paint this smile for you
Backflips, cartwheeling, somersault feelings
What is there left to do?
Laughter is free
But it's so hard for me, a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
Roll up, roll up, enjoy the show
Pick me up, wind me up, put me down
You'll see me go
And this painted smile
May miss for a while
Then come back and steal your show
I sing, I dance
Give me a chance to do my turn for you
With backflips, cartwheeling, somersault feelings
What's there left to do?
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
Reflective Smile
Your painted smile hides you still
While you search yourself within
Yesterday and tomorrow's found
Fused as one upon solid ground
As all around the milling crowd
Confuse themselves with raging sounds
And their loves forgetfulness abounds
So be thankful for your greasepaint-clown
If loneliness wears the crown of the Veteran Cosmic Rocker
Veteran Cosmic Rocker
The lights go down, the stage is set
The man in the wings breaks out in sweat
A backstage joker spiked his coke
While the dressing room was full of smoke
A crowd of fools got him high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He steps into the remaining light
Crowd go wild, he's out of sight
Arms held high in the sign of peace
His manager signed the one night lease
The house is full getting high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He's the Veteran Cosmic Rocker
He steps into the remaining light
The crowd go wild, he's out of sight
Arms held high in the sign of peace
His manager signed the one night lease
The house is full getting high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He's the Veteran Cosmic Rocker
He's afraid that he will die
Can you relate to these words? Do you like the music?
I played an open mic at West Music Thursday night. The most difficult aspect of performing is to calm my nerves. Past that, I must channel the situations and feelings that prompted me to write the songs at all. Focus. Keep within the words and music. Forget about the audience, though not completely. Eye contact. An occasional nod. A smile. Get my fingers to hold and pluck the strings. How do I get through a cramping hand? But I have to focus on the words.
These are only some of the challenges as I work on this major effort of my new life. Fear. Doubt. Sadness. Guilt. Expectation. You get the idea. It’s no wonder that performers are torn between their personal lives and their public personas. Supposedly, we have gifts. But they come at a cost. Just like everything else in all of our lives. Sometimes we are gifted. Sometimes we make choices. Regardless, we deal with them. Sometimes in the open, sometimes behind the veil of a smile, like the “grease-paint clown.”
If retailers can create sales called “Christmas in July”, I can call for “Thanksgiving in July?” Though it should probably be in June. I’ll chalk that up to artistic license.
Nearly two weeks past my gig in Clear Lake, I am still reeling from emptiness, sadness, and guilt. It is common for me to have a letdown after completing a challenging goal; that, combined with the spiral grieving process (though at times it feels more like a roller coaster!). Nor surprise that I am off.
I miss Pam intensely. I am sad that she is unable to watch her grandchildren grow into adulthood, she cannot watch Adalynn, our next door neighbor child, frolic on her new swing set, or to share times with family and friends, or go on the road with me. I feel guilty for moving forward with my life without her, even though I know in my mind that she would want me to.
Adalynn with BlueAdalynn the Princess
In the midst of this despair I found myself giving thanks for many of the same things I rue during loss. You may thank God, the universe, even your lucky stars. Regardless of attribute, it is enlightening and healthy to be thankful.
First and foremost, I am thankful for my family. Just being able to have relationships with siblings, daughters, sons, grandchildren, in-laws is worth many thanks. And thanks to them for – being. Each person is a gift full of gifts! I am thankful for their support, for believing in me, for their compassionate ears and encouraging words.
Pam and I were happily married for over 25 years, for which I am truly thankful. Being with Pam taught me about unconditional love, deep love, letting go love. I cannot imagine a better mate. I am forever changed for the better because of her.
I am thankful for my health. Sure. I have a few “getting older” issues, but how can I complain when I know so many with far worse ailments. So far, I am still able to do the things I love, like play guitar and sing, and walk and hike. I can drive my car (which I also enjoy), and eat and drink “normally.” Health is at the heart of maintaining good quality of life, for which we all strive.
A modest home in a friendly Iowa town. Living across the street from a park and a pond – with trout! Good neighbors. So much more to be thankful for.
Which leads to how I live. Always striving to live within my means. Thankful that I can afford the things I have and am able to share my gifts with others.
My music continues to be a sustaining force in my life. I am thankful for the gift of music, my ability to play, and create music and lyrics that are cathartic for me and convey messages that others can relate to. I am thankful for the people I’m meeting as I play. From those who pass on the streets and walks as I practice in my garage, to those who patiently listen at more formal venues. I am grateful to be able to share myself, as representing thoughts and emotions of others.
So much to be thankful for! Whether it’s June, July, or any other time of the year. When I’m feeling down and out, It’s good to recognize and articulate what I am thankful for. How about you?
P. S.
OMG Look what came in the mail this morning. Guess I’m not the only one. 😉 They say they can provide six meals for every dollar donated. North Liberty Community Pantry is a cause I contribute to often.
Bucket list item? Goal? Dream? Commitment? Yep. All of those. My gig at Galilean Lutheran Church in Clear Lake was a success. I played one song during the service and 21 during the performance. Many stayed to listen. And while a few left after the first set, several friends, and family who all drove in for the event, thank you very much, stayed for the entire time.
A surreal perspective engulfed me as I played. It was hard to believe I was actually there performing. Fortunately, I enjoy playing my music and sharing my life with others through song. I got into it easily and made relatively few, minor mistakes, probably even fewer that were noticeable. Feedback was positive, with several people expressing their like for the songwriting. Overall, the consensus was that I should go forth and do more.
There were several stress indicators in the weeks leading up to the event. A gout flareup, trouble sleeping, and sadness for missing Pam. I know she would have been happy, and would have enjoyed the experience. I know I would not be who I am, doing what I am, without her love and encouragement. Last Tuesday was Pam’s birthday. Two days after the show. That, too, was looming in my heart and mind as the day approached.
Reflecting on my experience and feelings in the days after the show, extreme sorrow, and some guilt, overtook me. I realized that, though Pam shared it, this was my dream. My fulfillment. I felt that I hadn’t listened well enough to Pam expressing her dreams, that I didn’t do enough to make them come true.
Of course we had common dreams that we hoped would become real during our years of retirement. I like to think we would have made those, and Pam’s come true. Unfortunately, we have little control over the universe, the world, our lives. I would trade, in a heartbeat, all of who and what I am now to be with Pam again.
As I pondered these shortcomings, I found myself saying:
“I could have loved her better, but I could not have loved her more.”
I’m not sure that makes sense, but it sounds good and might even make good song lyrics. I love Pam deeply. I know that. But I certainly could have done it better, listened better, given more of myself to her.
Other lyrics I’ve written express Pam’s beautiful being that I aspire to, but will probably never achieve:
“You treat others better than yourself. Thinking more of them than you.”
The “others” and “them” include me. Now I can only try to do better. I cannot change the past. But I can impact my future. And in doing so, positively impact other’s lives as well. I hope!
“What’s next?” You might ask. After a few days of relative rest (that means playing only occasionally instead of for hours each day), I will start working on new material that I’ve already been writing and plucking, along with polishing several songs that have been sitting for months and years. I hope to record the remainder of my current play list so that I can share the newer songs that are not yet posted. I’ll be looking for open mics around the area to gain confidence and exposure. No, Linda, I’m not headed to Nashville yet. 😉
