Sing It Loud (Or Not)

Sing It Loud (Or Not)

Back in the Fall, my son decided he wanted to sing in Chorus.  Those of you that know him, know that he often is singing to himself, or making up a tune and words to go along with his thoughts.  When Chorus started, he was slightly disappointed – it is hard for him to stand for so long, and he has to learn and understand new terminology and sing someone else’s words – sometimes words that evoke emotion about his life and father.  We decided he would stay committed for the year, and to give more rehearsals a try, and he was assured that he would begin to feel more comfortable.

After a few months, it came time for the winter concert.  While my son was excited, I was apprehensive.  I always have this feeling that Wayne should be here, and it was pulling at me more intensely.  The selfish part of me didn’t want our son to be in music (keeping this thought to myself), but I cannot deny him that, and I must support him despite the pain.  Wayne would want him to love music and he does.  And, I know that I would feel differently if Wayne were here.

At the dress rehearsal, I was told that my son did not sing.  He said he was thinking about Star Wars, and I can imagine the scene that might be going through his head as he looked out at all of the empty seats.  Wayne loved Stars Wars too and coincidentally the movie trailers have come out, again making me wish he were here to see the new show.  I had not mentioned this to our son, yet here was with his mind on the same thing.

Our son has no problem reading in front of others, but in show performances, like the one back when he was in Kindergarten, where he stood behind and held a snowman, he was not a bold actor.  His choral group is huge – over 100 students – and I can imagine that one might feel lost and overwhelmed in such a size.  It didn’t bother me that he didn’t sing, I was proud of him for even getting up on stage.

I also knew that for the first time in 2 years that I would see the new band teacher conduct.  She’s lovely, but I want to see Wayne there.  This is the stage my husband stood on.  His feet have touched this place, his composed music has filled the auditorium with his voice and his music, and I could see and feel the love of his students and how far they had come and grown.  Now, that would be different, as if I was in … am in … a different world.

Now, when I go places, I have to have a plan.  I rarely hear live instrumental music anymore (other than keyboards and guitar).  It is still too painful for me.  I have to have a way to escape the room if grief takes over.  So my sister and her two children sat beside me, subduing the fact that I was sitting there alone, without Wayne holding my hand, taking pictures.  I know he would have helped backstage too, kept an extra eye on our son and his friends, and would have joined in on their excitement.  I sat in the balcony so that my perspective is different onto the stage; different than how I looked at it from up front; when Wayne was there.  I could be somewhat anonymous, but there are people that know me – however at least I could just be Mom.

The band was before my son’s group, and I tried to mentally prepare myself.  A friend patted my knee – when they played – which showed me that she too was thinking of Wayne. That was a gift that held me in place for a moment.  I found myself going numb to the music, as if I was an outsider looking in.  I noticed kids’ tapping feet, my mind grasping at tendrils of memories in fog, remembering Wayne’s red vest, Santa hat, and voice filling the auditorium.  I needed to leave – and thankfully my young nephew needed to use the bathroom.  I looked in the mirror while I was waiting and saw a pale and tired reflection.  Grief is exhausting.

Then, it was time for my son’s group to sing, and I felt more composed and ready.  My son wore a Peanuts Christmas bow tie (one of Daddy’s favorite Christmas themes), and it made it easier to see him in the large group.  I wondered if he would sing, and he did!  I could see his mouth moving from my bird’s eye view.  I sat in the balcony, looking down, wondering if God permitted Wayne a sneak peek through, so he could see his beautiful son.  I am so proud of him.  He was singing it loud, and beautifully so.

I was also recently asked to sing in Praise Band at Church, while I felt the pull to say “yes”, other circumstances put it on hold for a while, and now I know I wasn’t ready.  I cannot sing it loud yet myself, and that is okay.

After the concert was over, my son walked in a line with his group back to the holding area.  He saw me and flashed a proud sideways smile as he passed me by.  The same smile his Daddy would show.

My son will ALWAYS have a mom and dad ... I never wanted Wayne to miss his son's first concert, I never wanted to be the sole parent, I never wanted to watch someone suffer and die, I never wanted grief attacks because a trauma changed me in an uncontrollable way.  My grief is complicated. 

So, I do the best I can - My son is my priority - and I lean on God and those that just listen, validate, and support us where we are - imperfectly perfect.  I have to have hope that our journey can help another.

So appreciate what you have - if you have someone important in your life tell them so - don't wait - because you really do not have control over anything - other than your choice to be gracious, to love, and to forgive.  Whether your voice is singing out loud, or not, you can still show compassion, because everyone you meet is most likely carrying something. 

Reflection Verses:

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Corinthians 13:6-7 (NIV)

And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, … " Exodus 34:6 (NIV)