My Issues with Music

After my ex-husband moved out, nearly three years ago from today, I found myself completely unable to listen to music of any kind. Even the most gnarly rock song would land me in a puddle of uncontrollable sobs – for some reason sadness can find sadness wherever it goes. It wasn’t long into this phase of my life that a good friend made me a mix CD and offered it to me with some great advice “If you lose music, you’ll lose your soul” and I knew he was right. Music has been such a large part of my life, as I assume most can relate. I was never in a band, or strumming a guitar, but I was always able to find solace in a few lyrics from a song that hit spot on.

I tried to train myself to listen to the music at night, one of the loneliest times in the world for me when the children were sleeping and for the first times in years and years, I was laying in a dark room in a bed that seemed to grow into an ocean over night. Midway through the first song when I felt the emotion whelming in the pit of my chest, I would quickly turn the music off, say my prayers and try desperately to sleep.

As time moved on, my heart was still anti-music. Every song had a memory of a place, or a time in my life that I just couldn’t stand to remember alone. If the kids were in the car with me, I could turn the radio on low volume for their sake, but I would pray for distractions from the lyrics. I don’t know what I felt like music made me face, but I knew I wasn’t ready to face it.

Eventually, I met my Bald Lover, a music junkie, and became able to stand music in small quantities – at a night out surrounded by friends, with him while we were busied with other household chores, etc, and without a horrible cringe of emotional pain if I was shopping and something deeper than elevator music was playing on the system.

He was living in the City at the time, and I in Tulsa – two hours apart. He’d stay with me on occasion through the week when we couldn’t bare to be apart but he’d have to rise early before the sun to head back to the city for work. And once again I would lay in that dark room, in that sea of a bed and weep out of loneliness with ever sad lyric I ever heard circling my head and pestering my heart.

After he would leave it would sometimes be days before I would try to listen to music again.

Last night my Bald Lover found Pandora Radio on his Android phone just as we were laying down to sleep, so we laid in the dark room while he played his favorites, and then as he stood up to visit the restroom the crushing emotion of the music playing and the silent room, and the elephant sized bed surrounding me made me remember all those lonely nights when I couldn’t find myself  in the mountains of covers fit for more than one person in a dark and still room that seemed as though the walls were chanting all my faults at me one by one. I immediately thanked God for my family, that man that helps to fill this bed, and the walls that no longer chastise me with memories of abandonment. I can listen to music at night, what a gift from the man who loves me.

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