Lately, a song will take up residence in my head. I’m not talking an ear-worm that lasts a few hours, but ones that stay days, even weeks, always playing in the background.
They aren’t happy songs. Currently it’s Hurt, not the Nine Inch Nails original but the cover of it that Johnny Cash did in the last year of his life.
A few months ago, it was a verse from Linkin Park’s In the End.
I tried so hard and got so far
But in the end, it doesn’t even matter
I had to fall to lose it all
But in the end, it doesn’t even matter
It rang through my head every time I thought about my son, for weeks. It got louder as I sorted out what remained after his sudden death. Seeing the checklist on his whiteboard in his room, or the book on creating good habits. Remembering his enthusiasm about his summer, as he (the one who never took a picture) sent me panoramas of the mountains he worked in, the sun setting over water, the traditional Finnish soup that he had taught himself to make. Taking his neatly folded clothes out of the well organized drawers. Waiting for the autopsy report, dealing with government agencies and banks. Despairing at the thought that he should die now, when he was finally finding his way. He was succeeding (at last!) at a school program. He had pulled out his trombone and started playing again.
(He) tried so hard, and got so far…
And gradually I realized that my subconscious was telling me, with this song, that there was something I needed to work out. Did it really not matter? If you don’t get the gold medal, does it mean it wasn’t worth running the race? Was the journey for nothing if you don’t reach the intended destination? Yes, I wanted him to have goals, but was that not success enough in itself?
Is there ever a good time for a young person to die? How would it have been better if it had happened during one of his darker times, when he was aimless, anxious, and full of self-doubt? When I was upset with him, for wrecking my car or misusing my credit card? I could never stay mad long, but he was keenly sensitive to disappointing us.
Did all the love and time and care we dedicated to him mean nothing, just because he is gone?
Of course for him, and for anyone else who dies, nothing matters anymore. It’s only those of us left behind who struggle with thoughts of unreached futures. I think there is enough grief in me without adding that.
I hold in my heart my son as I last saw him alive, as he gave me a giant hug and smile.
I’ve read similar insights, had people tell me. But to really know, it needs to be absorbed, to be part of you, not just something in your head. These songs help me process, as again and again I visit uncomfortable thoughts.
Those lyrics no longer echo in my head. When I listened to In the End today, to make sure I had the words right, I could appreciate the emotional and musical power of the song without it triggering pain.
And now I wait to see what Hurt is trying to tell me.
Brave Travels 