Sometimes, I Wonder

I knew I’d be spending a portion of my morning at a funeral in West Stinkfort*, a town 6 miles south of here. And, although 6 miles isn’t exactly a long haul, in my mind, it still qualified as a minor road trip. (Had I known I’d actually be going to West Frankfart** twice today — once by virtue of deciding to take a “new” road — I would’ve deemed it a fair-to-middlin’ road trip … even though, thankfully, I’ve never actually used the term “fair-to-middlin’” in a real conversation.)

Anyhoo, knowing about the first trip, I grabbed a couple of CDs for the drive there and back: Version 2.0 by Garbage (primarily for the song “Special”) and the Cold Mountain Soundtrack … mostly because, during this “Hallmark Hall of Fame” tearjerker that I just HAD to watch last night, a song kept playing that reminded me of one in Cold Mountain – a movie that I really, really like, by the way. Keep in mind that I also knew I already had the Beatles’ Abbey Road and One CDs in the car, along with the 1984 Soundtrack by the Eurythmics.

Sometimes, I wonder: What do my musical choices/tastes say about me?

(Remember, also, that I intended to take Yaz’s You and Me Both with me, primarily for the song, “And On,” which I can’t seem to get out of my head these past few days, but I can’t seem to find the CD anywhere. [It's probably worth noting, too, that at any given time, there are at least 2 CDs I have misplaced; bear in mind that I rarely lend my CDs to anyone, so it's basically all on me.])

And On

Your mother was crying
Your father passed her a handkerchief
Their tear-stained faces
Looked to mine for a sign of grief
A thousand raincoats
Always stand around too long
I stayed to talk with you
After they had gone

The flowers I brought you
Were beginning to fade under the heavy rain
Your name on the card had run
So I tried in vain to write it again
They didn’t understand you, no
They didn’t even try
I’m so glad that you left us now
Before you had the chance to die

I sat there for a long time,
Expecting to turn and see you there
I ran my fingers through the long grass
Willing it to turn into your hair
And oh, I’m gonna miss you, dear
But I don’t have to cry
I’m so glad that you left us now
Before you had the chance to die

And oh, I’m going to miss you, dear
But I’m not going to cry
I’m so glad that your life stopped now
Before it had the chance to die

– Yaz

* — Not the town’s actual name.

** — Also not the town’s actual name.

Perspectives: Just Outside Logan

A Rose for Pam

Pamela Sue Brannan
(April 28, 1962-April 18, 2007)

Jenn’s mom died on my birthday. I didn’t hear about it until the next evening when Leslie sent me a message on MySpace. (Lest you think I’ve forgiven MySpace, keep in mind that it was back to its fucked-up ways over the weekend — so: NO, I haven’t.) Jenn and Brandee made their way to the news office on Friday, and for the first few minutes of seeing them, all I could do was hold Jenn.

She and Brandee were expecting some words o’ wisdom from me, and all I could come up with was: “Sucks.” Honest to God, that’s the best I could do … although, today, after the funeral, standing in the parking lot at the cemetery, just before I left, I came up with a bit of an improvement — or at the very least, an expansion: “Sucks, man.”

(I am nothing if not eloquent. And/or succinct.)

I did not know Pam. In fact, I’m pretty sure I never actually met her in person – I had only spoken to her a few times on the phone when I would call out to talk to Jenn.

It would have made more sense, age-wise, for Pam and me to be friends, as she was 44 going on 45 and I just turned 42. Jenn was the one who worked with me, though, and by getting to know each other in the wee hours of the morning every weekday (and late-night Fridays), plus all the other connections we seemed to have, we formed a friendship that I will always treasure.

Jenn is 25 now — coincidentally, the same age I was when my dad died. Suddenly. Just like Pam, and I suspect that now, just a few days after her mom died, Jenn is probably in the same kind of shock that I was for a few days/weeks/months … except, no, this is her mom, so it’s different, and as much as I might think I understand, I really don’t.

But I’m sure it sucks, man.