Hello All,

I set out a song experiment and completed it. I’m posting it here today, because it’s Thanksgiving in the United States and for the first years of my life I celebrated Thanksgiving with various family configurations and my mother and father are both part of this experiment.

My heart is fluttering in my chest. That nervous feeling of worrying about being dismissed or not believed or judged.

And, yet, I am someone who loves much. I trust love.

Love wants to be shared. So, I’m sharing.

Theia and Sloane’s pet bunnies died a few weeks ago. Tragically. Unexpectedly. 

Mom and Dad planned a decent funeral and the grieving continued into the evening. 

Sloane’s fury at the carelessness of humans to keep bunnies safe transferred to anger at whatever wild animal took Butterscotch’s life. Mom told Sloane a true and sad story from her own childhood: sitting with a family dog when she was euthanized, and soon Sloane started moving through grief. Anger transformed into deep sadness. 

Theia’s needs: “Dad. Dad. Will you put on sad music so I can cry?”

Dad searched sad music to cry to on Spotify and started the playlist. Theia lay, facedown, on the couch, and let the sadness go. 

Today, I walk to the Bow River, where it empties from the dam. I’m not alone; ducks and deer travel past me. Down the river a bit, a beaver moves from one shore to the other. 

My winter boots manage fresh snow and rock bodies. I stop at lone Pine tree, roots rising up from a tumble of rocks, but hanging on. The turtle sculpture the girls assembled from found rocks six seasons ago remains on a tree stump. 

I’m heading back towards home when I remember the song experiment. In Spotify, under Downloaded songs, I find Annie’s Song by John Denver. I hesitate. I’ve been sick, my energy bottomed-out two days ago. My mother came to me in my dreams while I shivered and moaned at the pain of all my organs throbbing with inflammation. Is she here because I’m dying? I can be very melodramatic when I’m sick.   

All day, this day, I’ve felt great. Annie’s Song? How much suffering can I endure? 

During my hallucinatory-misery, I vowed I would continue to face all the past fears and worries, pain and suffering, joy and joy and joy. Vows transform into curses if you go against them, I’ve found. 

I press play. 

The first guitar chords strum and John’s Denver’s voice, soothing and warm, flows. I sing along, of course, having sung this song dozens and dozens of times, even performing it for people who came to the house while my dad played guitar and piano. I dreamed for years of becoming a singer. Of singing on Broadway. 

“Come let me love you. Let me give my life to you. Let me drown in your laughter. Let me die in your arms. Let me lay down beside you. Let me always be with you. Come let me love you. Come love me again.”

Violins join in the break and the song soars. And I sing louder and louder. I stand on the hillside, facing the setting sun. I’m above the river here. I’m belting the words out. 

“You fill up my senses. Like a night in a forest.

Like the mountains in the springtime, like a walk in the rain. 

Like a storm in the desert. Like a sleepy blue ocean.”

My heart soars open. My arms wide, I’m spinning and spinning around. I’m on Broadway. In my winter coat, my hat, my scarf, all black and my gold fanny pack for my phone, I’m inside my body and joyously viewing myself from above. What silliness! I’m laughing my way through the next play of the song until John and I get to the final few lines.

“You fill up my senses. Come fill me again.” 

I remember being in a circle of trees when I was 9, singing and singing this same song. 

The lake, the sky, the sun, the river, the trees, the deer, the ducks, the beaver. I love them. They have helped me so much. I want them to know. I love you. I love you. I am so happy. 

And, then, before I have time to stop the song and say, “I’m done, time to write,” the song loops, begins again. 

This time John’s voice is laid over with my dad’s voice, a voice I listened to for years and years. A voice which soothed me. And betrayed me. I see his eyes. My heart wobbles and I stand still. I let the wobble grow. I feel the constriction. I breathe. Relax, let go. I breathe. Relax, let go. The pain fades. 

Theia and Sloane’s pet bunnies died a few weeks ago. Tragically. Unexpectedly. 
Unexpectedly. Tragically. Dad. 

I walk farther up the hill, turn again towards the last of the sun, now behind the mountains. Gold and red and pink light reflects off the bottoms of ribbons of clouds. 

“It’s so beautiful,” I say. “It’s so beautiful.”

I am both me and my mother. This is the comfort I dreamed. 

You’re here. You’re here. I remind myself. You have work to do. 

I sing Annie’s song a dozen more times as I walk the rest of the way up the hill and back to the house. I pass a neighbor adding strings of electric lights to their outdoor trees. I take my headphones out. 

“Beautiful,” I say. 

“I hope so,” she says.

“For sure. Gorgeous.”. 

“Thanks.” 

We wave to each other. My heart swells. This is my work.