Updated: Sep. 30, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 22, 2015
As I drove down the road, a familiar tune filled the car. “Make it stop!” my daughter, Lily, pleaded from the backseat. “I don’t like this song.”
“Lily,” I chimed back, “it’s your song!” I couldn’t resist belting out the chorus of that Neil Diamond classic: “Sweet Lily, good times never seemed so good.” But she shook her head vehemently, trapped in her seatbelt while I stubbornly refused to switch the radio station.
I was reminded of a Neil Diamond concert I attended with my parents and husband shortly after 9/11. We were seeking the comfort and nostalgia that his music provided. I remember my dad beaming at me as we sang together, and for a moment, surrounded by thousands, I felt a pure joy that was hard to describe. Sadly, just two weeks later, my world turned upside down when my dad was diagnosed with brain tumors. The grief that engulfed us was immense. All I could think of was how to give him a glimmer of hope, which led me to reach out to a former colleague for a signed letter from President Bush. When it arrived, my dad’s smile was a beacon of light in a dark time.
Six months later, I found myself in a stark hospital room, saying goodbye to my father. In the midst of my grief, I discovered I was pregnant. The news was bittersweet, a mix of joy and sorrow. As I prepared for the arrival of my baby, I dug out the infant car seat and read Goodnight Moon to remind myself of brighter days ahead.
When my daughter, Lily, was born a month early, we hadn’t yet chosen a name. As I held my tiny miracle in the hospital, I felt a connection to my dad and decided on “Lily,” a name that embodied the last happy memory I shared with him. As a toddler, she would proudly sing along to her namesake song, even exclaiming, “I came down from heaven as Papa was going up!” But as she grew older, her tastes shifted, and she no longer wanted to hear that song—perhaps because of my attempts to reach out to Neil Diamond, which resulted in a signed photo that made her the only 3-year-old with a glossy in her room alongside Elmo.
Now, as a tween, she covers her ears when “Sweet Caroline” plays in the car, and I can sense her growing independence. I want to tell her that one day, she’ll hear that song in a bar, surrounded by friends, and it will bring back memories of laughter and joy. This song, much like our memories, will always be a part of her life.
“Remember when you tried to sell Neil Diamond’s Classic Hits at our garage sale?” I think, wishing she could have known her Papa better. It’s tough watching her withdraw, her music preferences changing as she searches for Selena Gomez on her iPod. I smile softly in the rearview mirror, knowing that while she may be moving away from me, she carries my father’s spirit within her.
In those moments, I reflect on the beauty of life—how spring can transform into summer in the blink of an eye. If you’re navigating your own path through motherhood or looking into the possibilities of artificial insemination, you might find valuable insights in this helpful resource on female infertility or explore fertility supplements that could assist you on your journey. And if you’re interested in more stories like mine, check out this post on Cervical Insemination.
In summary, as our children grow and their tastes evolve, we can cherish the memories that shape us. The songs we love and the loved ones we’ve lost will always resonate within us, creating a beautiful tapestry of experiences.
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