A Song's Message

The day of my dad's funeral is mostly a blur. In fact, the entire week following his death is somewhat removed from my memory. I can recall tiny bits and pieces, fragmented images that flee from my grasp almost as soon as I think them - holding his limp hand in the hospital room, the tear that rolled down his cheek as he passed away. The relatives - most of whom I had never met - avoiding my eyes at the funeral. (Or, to be fair, maybe I was avoiding theirs.) A steady stream of creamy casseroles, sympathy cards, and phone calls that continued for weeks on end...

All of those memories are blurry, incomplete. Just momentary glimpses into an incident that wrung me dry, cut me open, and changed me from the inside out.

But there is one memory, one moment in all that mess that stands out vividly. Crisp and clear, it's this memory - or song, rather - that I cherish more than I can say. To this day, just hearing it fills me with an intense, almost overwhelming feeling of peace.

This song played on our car radio as we drove to the funeral. Strange, but the moment the car started, the radio clicked on, there was a split second of black silence, and then... This. I'd never heard the song before, and I've rarely heard it on the radio since. It started as we pulled out of the driveway of our house and lasted all the way to the church. As my mom tucked the car into a parking spot, the song ended, and a peaceful silence fell.

I knew as I listened to that song that my dad was with me - right at that moment. I knew then that he would always be with me. The voice on the radio wasn't his, but the message was.

"Just think of me, and I'll be there."

__________________________

"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality."
-- Emily Dickinson