Concerted effort
I went out to a concert last night, Dave Mason (of Traffic fame) and Stephen Stills, two granddaddies of rock ‘n’ roll who would be worth seeing for that reason alone. But I also like their music. I didn’t know Dave Mason from Adam, but A shared his music with me. I thought it was all right (no pun intended), but have listened with more sympathetic ears since A passed, and have come to appreciate it. As for Stephen Stills, one would have to be deaf to not appreciate Crosby, Stills, and Nash (with or without Young). A and I shared a love of music; it was the basis for our friendship. We shared a lot of music, and gave reports on all the shows we saw. Last night’s show was a show he would’ve been envious I was attending, and I would’ve gloated in a manner totally unbecoming, and totally expected. It’s what we did.
I was so tired yesterday, and as the time to leave the house came, I started to feel a little bad about leaving Local Indigenous Personnel home without me for the evening. But as I drove to the venue, I reflected on the fact that I have not been fit company for anyone for the last couple days, and it is probably no great loss to anyone. I even was even peevish to the nicest co-worker I have, so much so that I felt the need to apologize. It’s like I can’t even help it—I seem to be spoilin’ for a fight at any and all turns, quick to take offense, and impatient with everything, including myself. It was probably better I spent the night alone, not talking to anyone, bathed in music.
Of course, the music hall was filled with baby boomers, all of a similar age of A and his friends, who would’ve been at that concert, too, if they could’ve been. The place was filled with eyeglass-wearing, gray goateed men, many in caps. I could see his face reflected everywhere I turned. That’s always a tough thing, though such men no longer bring me to tears upon sight. They used to, no matter how vague the resemblance. Now, every once in a blue moon, one who looks especially like him, or carries himself similarly, will trip me up, but the resemblance has to be closer. In February, I saw a man that looked like A, only 15-20 years younger. The resemblance was uncanny in every way, right down to the way he sat, despite the fact that I didn’t know A 15-20 years ago. I stared at him for a long, long time.
As I sat in my seat in the dark, I considered the fact that I wouldn’t even be at that concert if it wasn’t for A. And I had a moment of insight, in that I felt the truth of the idea that our loved ones do live on through us. The ripples of his rock in my pond are endless and infinite. Every time I put my fingers to my guitar strings, that’s his doing. Every time I go buy wood and make sawdust, it’s him. The funny phrase I stuck into a work e-mail was something he said. Here I was, doing something “new,” (not going to concerts, but going out to enjoy something again), and yet it was infused with him, with a hundred conversations we had. The echoes of him in my actions, thoughts, and life are uncountable. And I can’t help but think that’s a good thing.
The comfort that insight gave me was short-lived, I admit. Short-lived on an emotional level, anyway, but I do believe its philosophical and spiritual staying power will be greater. When you’re in this place, you will take whatever comfort you can find, and receive it with gratitude.