Life is so busy now, writing has become a lot like the friends I think about often but with whom I never get to spend time, lingering like you do when the connection is so strong you don’t actually want to leave. I can’t linger in creativity like I used to, when there are deadlines and turn-around time at work, and naptimes that seem to shorten in duration every day.
Music is played in the background like an afterthought, not for studious consideration in the days before Toddler Life. It’s hard to focus on the meaning of a lyric or a chorus when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder and making sure your kid doesn’t hurt himself while he moves dining room furniture around.
The cognitive awareness of his needs and anticipating his next move is so mentally draining, by the end of the day I have little energy for anything other than mindlessly checking Facebook status updates and scrolling through pictures on Instagram. Writing stuff down – as much as I love engaging in the wordplay and emotional connection through art – just seems like another task.
But I’m not complaining. I love this life, and if it means never writing another word, I will be okay. Of course, nobody is asking that of me, but that’s just how much I enjoy what I do. Being a mom trumps everything. It’s an honor and a gift not afforded to just anyone.
I don’t go to shows like I used to, nor do I have the time for diligent attention to a certain beloved band’s activities, but the love that I have for music has been transferred and repotted like a houseplant I love to nurture. Only now can I share it with the little person in my life who demands all my time and attention. “Let’s enjoy this together,” I think, and I will put on music. Let’s dance and learn to sing. Let’s learn some new words and learn the lyrics. Let’s nurture this love of music, because it is very well in your DNA – not just from me, but from generations before me and your dad – your grandparents, your great-grandparents, and so on. This is your heritage only we can show you, so let’s start with the music I love and grow from there.
For reasons only he knows, the Airborne song “Missy” has been on repeat in our house. Except, when he asks for it by name, it’s “Mimi.” He likes the elongated notes of the lyrics “Just as long as I’m never aloooooone” and “I’d follow you even if it was wrooooonnng” and has started cutting his teeth literally and figuratively on those notes, attempting to sing them on key. He loves the portion of the song from the All I Ever Wanted DVD with the girls’ choir singing along, and he lights up when Dad plays the song on the guitar for him and we all join in.
Of course, this isn’t the only song he likes, or the last (“Hey Jude” is another favorite, the ‘nah-nah-nahs’ being solidly in his vocabulary), but this song and this band, this is a love that we share together, as mother and son, and family.
Today he asked for “Mimi” just like he does every day, so I put on the DVD and we watched it together until he started rubbing his eyes. I scooped him up and put him to bed, letting the DVD play with no audience until I returned to the living room to turn it off. I have seen this show and this band now dozens of times, and these songs are as familiar to me like folk songs in the country of my heart, but I sat down anyway and watched for a moment since the need for me to look over my shoulder was sleeping soundly in the other room.
That pause in a parent’s life, when the dust settles for a moment and you can see the hands in front of you and your plans in the distance, as well as the life you’ve left behind, all came into focus in that moment watching Anna pull the bow across her viola during “This Losing.”
For as often as I’ve heard this song, the goosebumps still rise with the memories right behind them at the surface, of where I was four years ago when these songs were playing in the background like an afterthought. When I was pregnant and living a distracted life, and expecting it to turn out differently. Inside my body was a little person developing hair and teeth, limbs and hands, feet and fingers. And ears. In the background of my life, I was hearing this music, and so was he. And though our time together was so excruciatingly brief, we, too, had shared this music together. Mother and son. Family.
I have a couple painful anniversaries on the horizon this summer. Birth and death, and the heartbreak and pain that surrounds them as thick as fog. But intertwined in these memorials are anniversaries of first shows and concerts, first-time meetings of band members who had no idea their kindness meant so much, and all the love and compassion and connection I’ve received through music. Of going on and living a life with purpose, and now sharing that life and music with someone else. I couldn’t be more grateful. And it’s that gratitude that pulls me through the pain, like a bow on strings.