I remember watching my friends do the 30 day song challenge on Facebook and being inspired. And also ashamed. My taste in music is so whorish. It's not unlike my taste in food. I appreciate the fine things and I know why they're better, but I will indulge in the cheap crap if that's what hits the spot at the moment. If I were honest about my musical taste for 30 days, I'd probably lose friends due to my lack of standards.
But because life is hard, and I seem like a karmic tragedy-magnet, I need very much to get through the next 30 days, and I am thinking a daily task mixed with a music-therapy experiment might make it go faster. {Editor's note: please don't feel like I'm soliciting your interest by being vague. I won't be talking about what's wrong, just talking about how I get through what's wrong}. When Rbf died, I got through the hell with music, and accepted that all the additional blows life had in store for me would be most successfully tackled in that same way. I’ve been in a music dry-spell for awhile until my current situation called for new material, and I guess the universe sent it my way.
A couple of days ago, one of my best friends, Jessica, took me to a coffee shop to give me some free therapy. She’s a clinical social worker. So it technically has a dollar value, which I am not charged for. She also bought me my hot caramel apple spice, and gave me a present (a nursing cover, and an oversized “Your Mom” decal for my desk at work, to maintain my ever-professional demeanor).
I’m talking to her in a daze, like all my moments are anymore. Until I start talking about my baby, who I call Radimus. That’s when I crack. I make grosspinchyugly face, like a fat baby Zellweger encountering her first maggot. And get ready to cry (if crying isn’t what I was going to do after pulling a face like that, I have more worries than I thought). I can’t even look at my friend’s face when I talk, so I stare out the window, and I tell Jessica that the only thing I can even bring myself to pray for anymore is that when my baby gets here, I’ll fall in love enough that it will make everything OK and I’ll stop hurting. And I feel guilty that there’s a chance nothing, not even my baby, will vacuum up my pain. Which made me feel like an unfit mom already.
Jessica held onto her cocoa and smiled knowingly and patiently. And let me finish eeking out my words. And she proceeded to tell me some of the sweetest, sanest, realest and most un-cliche’d things about motherhood, while the coffee shop’s playlist decided to land on a song that melted me like butter. Jack Johnson made a Holiday version of his Angel song, which I love so much. And that was the song that played. She sat quietly and let me cry, until the Zellweger maggot face went away.
That’s my song for today. A song that made me feel something pure.
The Day 30 Song prompt will start tomorrow.
But because life is hard, and I seem like a karmic tragedy-magnet, I need very much to get through the next 30 days, and I am thinking a daily task mixed with a music-therapy experiment might make it go faster. {Editor's note: please don't feel like I'm soliciting your interest by being vague. I won't be talking about what's wrong, just talking about how I get through what's wrong}. When Rbf died, I got through the hell with music, and accepted that all the additional blows life had in store for me would be most successfully tackled in that same way. I’ve been in a music dry-spell for awhile until my current situation called for new material, and I guess the universe sent it my way.
A couple of days ago, one of my best friends, Jessica, took me to a coffee shop to give me some free therapy. She’s a clinical social worker. So it technically has a dollar value, which I am not charged for. She also bought me my hot caramel apple spice, and gave me a present (a nursing cover, and an oversized “Your Mom” decal for my desk at work, to maintain my ever-professional demeanor).
I’m talking to her in a daze, like all my moments are anymore. Until I start talking about my baby, who I call Radimus. That’s when I crack. I make grosspinchyugly face, like a fat baby Zellweger encountering her first maggot. And get ready to cry (if crying isn’t what I was going to do after pulling a face like that, I have more worries than I thought). I can’t even look at my friend’s face when I talk, so I stare out the window, and I tell Jessica that the only thing I can even bring myself to pray for anymore is that when my baby gets here, I’ll fall in love enough that it will make everything OK and I’ll stop hurting. And I feel guilty that there’s a chance nothing, not even my baby, will vacuum up my pain. Which made me feel like an unfit mom already.
Jessica held onto her cocoa and smiled knowingly and patiently. And let me finish eeking out my words. And she proceeded to tell me some of the sweetest, sanest, realest and most un-cliche’d things about motherhood, while the coffee shop’s playlist decided to land on a song that melted me like butter. Jack Johnson made a Holiday version of his Angel song, which I love so much. And that was the song that played. She sat quietly and let me cry, until the Zellweger maggot face went away.
That’s my song for today. A song that made me feel something pure.
The Day 30 Song prompt will start tomorrow.
8 comments:
I remember after my Grandma died (not the same thing at all as Rbf, but) the only thing that got me through it was Rilo Kiley. Judge me if you want. But Jenny Lewis's voice, the songs--some fierce, some sad enough to help me cry (I have a hard time letting myself cry, it's occasionally a problem)--were what I needed.
I hope the universe keeps sending you what you need, because, honey, you deserve it.
Also, when once asked what my favorite music was I said Britney Spears. Then reaffirmed it like three separate times. I'd been listening to her for about a month solid and literally could not think of another act. So, I am in no position to judge anyone's music taste. (In other words, I will neither defriend nor judge you for whatever you post.)
I have no idea what is going on in your world, but I hope things get better. You are a GREAT mother, because you worry about being a bad mom, at least, that's what I'm hoping.
Hugs to you.
I haven't read your blog in what feels like a longish while (and feel kind of silly commenting after so long). But you just popped in my head, so I figured I'd see if you're still blogging.
Anyway whatever is going on, you're going to be a great mom--exactly the mom that this little baby needs. Love to you.
It took me like 4 hours to figure out what a Zellweger face is. That is honestly the best way to describe that kind of face that I have heard in a while.
You are amazing. You will be great when this baby shows up.
Amy and Italked about your post tonight. I hadn't read it, she did. And it deserves a long conversation, one that you and I haven't had. Amy said it, (I wish I had), but she says it all, and by God, I'm stealing it.
This baby is the miracle.
This baby is the miracle.
This baby is the miracle.
Carry what you need to carry.
Spill what you need to spill.
Sing what you need to sing.
Cry what you need to cry.
We've got your back.
I'm sad you are sad. I have never commented, but blogstalked for a couple years :O
My Mom grew up in a tiny town near Rupert and knew of the Mingo family. She was very sad about the plane crash, and shared with me what had happened. I read the news articles and found your blog way back then.
Crazily enough, a few months after Jed died, my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I didn't know any young widows, and found comfort and understanding in reading what you had written (especially knowing I would eventually be there myself). My husband struggled for almost a year and half, and just died in September. I have gone back and read the posts you wrote when you were where I am now. They are helpful, and connect with me in so many ways.
thank you for being real in your posts--even a strange blogstalker person like me has benefited!
I am very happy about your baby :) you will be a crazy/fun-wonderful mother (the best kind!)
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