I initially set out to share my affection for the ukulele—a delightful instrument that embodies joy and accessibility. It’s so easy to pick up and play, and having one around has become a cherished part of my life. My daughter often takes it on car rides, strumming along to the tunes of her favorite artists, and my partner occasionally picks it up to create spontaneous songs about our home life. At social gatherings, someone invariably strums that beloved rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, and I can’t help but feel a surge of happiness. The message I wanted to convey was simple: everyone should own a ukulele.
But then tragedy struck when my oldest friend, my confidant for over four decades, passed away. In light of this loss, I find myself compelled to express something deeper: in the absence of faith, music has become my sanctuary.
After my friend’s passing, following the eulogy I crafted and delivered, friends came to our home—what I affectionately call “The Community.” They brought food, love, and comfort, helping us navigate the depths of our grief. We shared laughter, tears, and even a bit too much of a peculiar Polish liqueur. In those moments, amidst the sorrow, my son sat at the piano, and soon, others joined in with various instruments. Music filled the air, a mixture of talent and enthusiastic voices lifted in harmony.
We sang songs that resonated with us—Joni Mitchell’s “River,” The Beatles’ “Let It Be,” and Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” The atmosphere transformed into something heavenly, a celebration of life amid the ache of loss.
Typically, our musical gatherings are filled with joy, but in times of grief, they take on a different significance. We often host hootenannies, where friends bring their instruments—guitars, banjos, and even that trusty glockenspiel we borrowed from our local library. The song list is a delightful blend:
- “I’ll Fly Away,” by Alison Krauss
- “Kick Drum Heart,” by the Avett Brothers
- “When My Time Comes,” by Dawes
- “Goddamn Lonely Love,” by Drive-By Truckers
- “Home,” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Sometimes, families send out a single song for everyone to prepare, fostering a sense of unity. It doesn’t matter if you can’t carry a tune; the joy is in the collective experience of making music together.
During my friend’s final days, there was a music therapist who came to the hospice. Armed with her guitar, she played songs that brought peace to my friend and all of us there. Music became a balm for our hearts, a reminder of connection even in the shadows of despair.
While music doesn’t offer the traditional comforts of religion—like an afterlife or clear answers—it provides an understanding of life’s essence. It’s about communion, about shared experiences, and a way to express what’s often unspeakable. As Leonard Cohen beautifully puts it, “And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.”
So, gather your loved ones, print out some lyrics, and embrace the healing power of music. Whether you have instruments or not, raise your voices in song. It’s what we all need—an invitation to connect, to feel, and to heal. For more insights into home insemination and pregnancy, check out this excellent resource. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, Cryobaby offers reliable kits to support your journey.
In light of my personal journey, I invite you to explore more about the role of music in healing in this article on losing a friend and finding solace through song.
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