Well I am happy to report that this month has not been the monster that I had created in my head for months leading up to August. It is August 16th, two weeks before the anniversary of her passing and I am still surviving. It’s funny in this life how we prepare for the worst that never comes and are unprepared for the worst yet to happen.
As I was going down in the elevator this morning I heard a country song playing that I recognized which is rare as I am not a fan of country music. It was so familiar that I found myself singing the chorus…and then I realized…it was the song that Bob played at my mom’s service in Woodlawn.
…and then there I sat with that realization…oh yea it’s August. What day is it? August 16th…where was I last year at this time? I was with her, on the mountain, savoring the last memories, our last moments on this earth. Let me just sit in this moment…
The irony that a song is what brought me back to this moment is not lost on me. My mom and I had the most amazing memories all wrapped in the music of our lifetime together. My eulogy to her was written capturing all of those amazing moments of music. I will be sharing that on August 31st to honor her passing.
What is it about a song that brings us right back to where we were in that moment? I can see exactly where I was, I feel exactly as I did at that time, I can smell the smells, hear the environment, I am there 100% in the first few notes of a song. It is for that reason that I consider music one of the most important mediums in life. The message and the melody found in music is the best medicine for our soul.
Today I refuse to allow that predicted dread from months before to creep in. I choose to hear the song as a measure of courage that I can listen to it now and instead of crying I embrace the love behind the music. The setting that day was so perfect for this song as we gathered in Oak Grove Church in Woodlawn which is the tiniest church on the biggest mountain in Woodlawn that stands tall in all her glory much like my mother.
Amazing Grace, that is how I recall my mother, Terry Lee Lao Dearborn, perfect in every way and not gone, not forgotten, simply missed.
Living life as she would have me live it – L.
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