Let Her Down Gently

I dropped my brother and his wife off at the BWI airport and started the two hour drive home. It was Monday. First day of the work week, first day after our mother's memorial service.

I hate goodbyes.

Personally, I think one of the hardest moments of grief is right after the funeral when all your friends and family leave to go home. You head back to your house and realize that life is not going to be the same anymore. The people who were with you throughout the death and funeral proceedings serve as a sort of cocoon and you feel safe and warm there, even in the midst of your grief. When they leave, it's as if you are birthed out into the cold world, naked. You are fragile and helpless. You need to be treated gently and given some time to adjust.

A melody and lyric presented themselves as I drove.

"let her down gently 

everybody's gone

going home to lonely

so let her down gently"

I wrote it down and never finished it. (I don't think my producer wants me to write anymore songs about death.) "You have plenty already," I can hear him say, and I giggle.

Two Stones

My mother's name has been engraved on two tombstones ever since I can remember. Having had two husbands, both preceding her in death,  I'm sure it was a decision of frugality and practicality to go ahead and have her name etched on both stones.

I always dreaded visiting the cemetery, partly for that reason.  It was a very vivid reminder that someday she would die. It was eery because her name and birthdate appeared, along with a blank space for the date of her death, waiting for it to happen. It's a lot for a child to process.

February 6 was her birthday and we just passed the second one since she's been gone. I haven't been able to go back to the home where she died ever since September 2014. It's too painful. In fact, I've even avoided the roads around it.  Secretly, I was afraid that they would force me to drive by and I just wasn't ready. Yet, I have felt guilty because there are people at this home that I would like to go visit but my selfish grief has kept me away.

I hate guilt. I used to hate grief even more.

Saturday, on her birthday, I had an event to do in the town where she died. Feeling a bit nostalgic, I took the long way so I could stop and visit her grave. "Yep - here I am, doing it - the very thing I despised when I was young," I smiled to myself.

As I was walking toward her spot, I had this unusually strong impression that she was no longer there. Now, I know that in my head, but my heart prefers to go visit her graveside anyway. It still brings comfort somehow, but this impression was so strong that it almost made me turn around and leave. I've never sensed that so strongly when visiting my family's graves.

But I wanted to see the date listed on her memorial. I haven't seen it since they etched it in last summer. Just as I reached for my phone to take a picture to send to my siblings, I saw a text from my brother in New Mexico reminding us it was her birthday. Interesting timing!

As I walked away, I had the resounding sense of completion - and not just the date on her tombstones. Something in my soul felt free. Knowing she isn't there somehow lifted my step.

Bertha Mae Sollenberger Crider Heisey
February 6, 1923 - September 24, 2014

As I drove toward the church where I was to speak, I came upon the little road to her home and decided to take it. And wouldn't you know, it took me right by the place where she died, and once again, I had the strong sense of freedom from grief.

Not only was she NOT in the cemetery, she was NOT at the home I so dreaded going to. I drove by - looked it square in the eye and smiled.  She's not there anymore.

My heart finally agreed with my head.

I wanted to go home and blog about my experience but the words felt like peanut butter in my spirit. However, I had a strong sense if I would work on the song, I could now finish it and the song would express what I want to say. I guess I just needed more time to live through the grief and grow to the other side of it.

Of all the songwriting tools available to me, the piano is usually the most productive one of all. I sat down at the piano and it came - easily, quickly and clearly.

I have songs that I've started and slaved over and still can't finish. When one comes this easily, it's a treat. I doubt you will ever hear it on one of my CD projects (unless I do one on grieving) but in light of the subject of my recent blog posts, I thought it would be an appropriate way to show you what it's like to take a song idea, process, write and record it. A snapshot into my "day of delight."

(I say that because a fan-turned-friend recently asked if she could come and sit in my studio and watch me write a song.  Oh my!!!!  No way!!!  It's such a personal process. Sorry - I said.)  

So this is the best I can do to let her in on my process.

The pictures aren't professional for the most part - but they represent my life. Joy and tears. Life and loss. It's my family's story.

Know someone who has recently lost a loved one?

Give her/him space.

Don't carve out her grief journey for her. Let her find her way. Just be there for her, and please.....let her down gently.

Click here to hear and see the song.