Cajun Music as a Rectifier -- a drabble, revised

I'm reminded of the lyrics of "The Lost Chord".

I'll have to look that up, John. Thanks for reading and commenting. I know this puts me in a vulnerable position, but I've gotta say that I wish more people would comment. The views tell me that they are reading, so why no remark? Even if it's to say, "Doesn't ring true for me." or "Not quite what I was expecting."

I guess this particular piece is about as personal as it gets for me and I already feel exposed by it.

Holding my breath and hitting send.

See? I've jinxed myself. Three more views, no more comments. :-P ;-)

I find this to be a wonderful write. The jazz greats, I understand, didn't want only mourning when they passed away. They wanted their friends to celebrate with cheerful music. I was on Washington Island last week covering the practice of a Physician's Assistant who was off the island for a recertification exam. I heard the story there of a man who left instructions that he wanted to sponsor a huge party following his death, and he did.

Thanks, John. I had picked out my "funeral" music a while back and had included "Oh Happy Day" because I love the song. Someone pointed out that people attending my funeral/memorial service might not appreciate that song considering.

I agreed and reconsidered. :-D

I've already told everyone no funeral but a party with music sung by Cleo Laine, my fave.

errily good.......i had to look to see if it realk was fiction, and i still am not sure, despite its tag of flash fiction....

Good catch, KEO. I guess it's not flash fiction, but rather flash creative non-fiction. It's true in the intent, but also metaphoric.

Featured in the Triple Name Club.

Thank ye much.

Excellent drabble.

That's very dark. Not the kind of thing I'd write, but I can see the beauty in your story.

Oddly, Len, I've found Cajun music to be such a euphoric release of my grief that I don't find this dark at all. I see where you perceive the darkness, but for me, it ends with joy in music.

This is a wonderful write and something that rings in my heart. It may not be the same tune, but music always touches me when nothing else can reach me. It is good.

I think it is a very touching piece. When we were in high school, a student a year ahead of me had leukemia. For her it was incurable, and she knew she would die. She decided on the songs and everything for her Mass. It was a celebratory Mass. Her death felt tragic to all of us, but her spirit in some ways set us free, and the joyful tone of her Mass helped us a lot. So your story makes perfect sense to me.

Lynn, I'd love for you to write on this memory. What you've shared here is rich already.

I can relate to this. I know music can be very healing. I have played for dying folks. I played Scandinavian music with my former band at the funeral for our passed-on bandleader. I like to think she was there listening to us, urging us on... ;-)

Alison, thanks for reading. I knew you'd resonate with it. It warms me to hear about you playing music for the dying.

I read this and I think how humans spend some of the most important times in their lives (deaths) with relative strangers. Giving birth under the gaze of someone never seen before, writhing in pain while grasping a strangers hand or listening to a song that strokes a misery until its almost acceptable while the musician is not aware even of his gift. Then I think about how that proves that we are all somehow tied together and it gives me hope.
Sometimes your work is so profound Susan that it takes a solid grabbing of time with absolutely no intrusion on ones thought to provide what one would consider an acceptable reaction or at least a decent effort to explain fully how the reader has been impacted.
There has never been a time when I didn't stop what I was doing to read what you post or to save it when I could give it my undivided attention. Thank you. Do not be dismayed.

Thanks for reading and commenting, Barbara. I love what you said: while the musician is not aware even of his gift.

True as ever. My heart nearly breaks with desire to fully impress upon those musicians who've impacted me permanently. I find it very difficult to reign in my emotions on this topic so that I don't come off as a lunatic.

I think there IS a sort of lunacy that takes over while we are riding the waves of grief. Going through all the steps in order to reach the final shore with a type of acceptance that allows us to go on with our own living requires a REAL time travel with no shortcuts. Then explaining what we went through in that process is another feat that can as you say " be one that nearly breaks your heart with desire to impress upon them their true gift you" That does not make you sound like a lunatic but on the contrary like one capable of deep passion and sensibility.

Susan, I'm sorry I didn't get around to reading this earlier. Life got firmly in the way. I really like this. Since I read your earlier piece about your relationship with Beau Soleil, I knoew where this piece was coming from. So I kind of feel like I'm cheating a bit. But I think you have done a remarkable job encapsulating the time and experience in the short span of this drabble. Music is healing. Somehow when a type of music, or a particular group or song resonates with us, it just goes straight to the heart. I get the sense very strongly in this piece. Nice work.

A big thank you, Atticus*. It feels nice to be not only heard, but understood.

Oh wow. I love this. That breathless moment when the music takes you in.

Yes, yes! You know that moment, too. :-)

Susan,

I'd have been here sooner or later, but this week, life has been rather crazy. I know this as well, for even when I was on life support (not expected to live, but I did), even the ICU nurses knew that music could help and heal as they OK'd my husband and son to bring something in that I could relate to and play it in my ears (with earphones).

When my Mom had cancer and knew she was going to die, (it was terminal and I suspect she knew she had it far longer than she let us know), she wrote or was given the words to a song and she said that she could hear the melody in her head. She asked me if she hummed it, if I'd write out the sheet music to it - which I did and it wasn't sad music, it was joyful - as long as she could, she played that song (on her keyboard) and sang along with it. I still have the words written down from back then and I'm privileged to say that I was with her when she passed away.

Oh, this definitely hit more than one chord within me - this is wonderful, Susan. As I'm looking at another death in our very small family right in the face, you've just made me feel a bit better, which isn't easy to do, these days. Thank you.

Marilyn

What a beautiful comment, Marilyn. All those rich stories...waiting to be mined. I still like this piece very much because it just *says* it all for me. Especially the last four words.

Unlike some of the others, I didn't find it dark at all, but uplifting. Death is very musical for me. As I type those words, I'm not sure that even makes sense, but I do feel it. I find music soothing and contemplative a times and inspiring and jubilant at others. When I'm doing what I think is my best writing, the words flow like a song from my mind with a rhythm or cadence. For me, music is in my soul, I hear it or 'see' it in most things. I digress from my intention to say, nice work, Susan.

I found this to be excellent, Susan. When we write from our heart, yes, we are vulnerable. But that is the only way to do it, I think.
I expect you already know my sister flew away, so I certainly identify.

Music is healing in many ways - nice drabble, Susan.

A job well done, Susan. This is really good.

Thanks, C.F. I wonder if it's wrong of me to say that I'll never stop loving this piece. It say exactly what I mean, succinctly.

Not a chance. I have one myself, so by no means and it's also very easy to see why in your case. Such substance wrapped in brevity.