Balm For My Soul

I have always loved music. Perhaps it started in my grandma’s basement when I was little and my sister and I would play dress up and sing our hearts out to her collection of 45s. (Marie Osmond’s “Paper Roses” was our favorite!) This evolved into singing into my hairbrush as I got a little older and making mix tapes (the 80s version of a playlist)) as a teenager.

There is a power to music that can’t really be compared to anything else. It gives expression to the feelings we don’t quite know how to put into words, and sometimes don’t even realize we have until music makes those emotions erupt.

Music was never more of a saving grace for me than it was in the year 2020. One of the fun things about quarantine in the spring was the number of singers who did live concerts from their homes, including Elton John, Brad Paisley and Josh Groban, who literally sang in the shower (fully clothed!) so that the acoustics made his already magnificent voice simply divine!

There were many spring and summer days when I would take our dog Ty for a walk in the park, listening to whichever playlist suited my mood. I remember one day in particular when I was listening to “Holy Spirit” by Francesca Battistelli, and as Ty and I came upon an open clearing at sunset, a breeze picked up and I was overcome with tears. I felt like God was reminding me, “I am right here with you, and somehow, someway, you and the rest of the world are going to make it through this.” It was one of the most tangible, powerful experiences of God I’ve ever had. I know without a doubt that the music I was listening to heightened those moments for me.

Another night this summer, I was having trouble sleeping and got up to scroll through my phone, which led to me making a playlist. My grandma’s birthday had just gone by on August 11 (she died when I was a freshman in college), so she was very much on my mind. I searched through Apple Music for Bette Midler’s “The Rose”, in honor of Grandma. She loved that song, and when Grandma came to visit us, she would ask me to play it on the piano. She would settle in to do her embroidery, and sing along. Grandma was the type of person who wasn’t concerned with the quality of tone as much as the passion with which one sang! Whenever we went to church together, hers was the voice that could always be heard amongst all of us. That song was so fitting for her too. She was a woman of tremendous faith who wrapped me in her arms more than once with the reassurance, “Everything’s going to be okay.” So when Bette Midler gets to the final line of that song---

“Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring, becomes the rose.”

--it’s like Grandma is still here with me, reminding me that everything’s going to be okay. (And boy, have I needed those reassurances this past year!)

Downloading that song led to song selections in honor of the rest of my grandparents as well, and I love the wide variation of songs this led to! There was a novelty song released in 1980 called “Shaddap You Face” by Joe Dolce, about a rebellious Italian boy. My Italian grandfather couldn’t have been more mellow and sweet, so it was a seemingly odd favorite of his, but he would laugh and listen to it over and over again. I can still picture him lifting the needle on the record player so he could play it again.

His wife, my paternal grandmother, was a huge Conway Twitty fan. I think she liked how he looked just as much as how he sounded! For her, I added Twitty’s, “Hello Darlin’”. I can still see her, clear as day, swooning just a bit as his smooth voice unfurled those opening notes.

I did not have the privilege of knowing my maternal grandfather. He died five months before my parents got married. My mom and dad were big Dan Fogelberg fans when I was growing up, and Mom had a special affinity for his song, “Leader of the Band”, which was a son’s tribute to his father. The song beautifully encapsulates the sacrifices that fathers make for the family they’re providing for. My mom is the youngest of seven children and was, no doubt, a daddy’s girl, so when Fogelberg finishes the final verse with “Papa, I don’t think I said I love you near enough,” we both get choked up. I’m pretty sure my grandpa knew how much Mom loved him, but once you lose somebody, all you want is another chance to say I love you.

The holiday season of 2020 was hard. The long held traditions of visiting my parents in St.Louis (often joined by my sister and her family from Michigan), and their New Year’s visit to our home were both cancelled. My mom, sister and I made a pact to take turns sending each other uplifting quotes, photos and songs every day in December to keep our spirits up. (A new tradition that we’ll hopefully keep up even after we can gather together again.) My sister and I both found ourselves listening to one particular album from our childhood Christmases. It’s the 1968 release of Living Strings and Living Voices’, “White Christmas’. We can both sing every word of every song and always know what song is coming next when the previous one ends. Listening to those songs (along with our perennial favorite, Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song”), instantly transports me back to my childhood and the 50 year old me and the 8 year old me are one and the same!

I’m not sure how to name the feeling I get when I hear those songs from the sacred spaces of my childhood. But that’s the power of music: somehow, it manages to express what we don’t have the words for.