Music and Memory

We sat in the building together to say goodbye. The minister spoke a few words and then invited Philip to come to the front to share. 

Philip talked about music and the importance it had in Clif's life. Everyone there thought of Clif and music. Philip talked about his last jam session with Clif. Philip was calm and funny and eloquent. Then he said he was going to play a medley of some of Clif's favorites, and for all us to sit and think about music and Clif.

The strains of the piano wafted through to us. At first I didn't recognize the music, but then I understood he was playing Beatles' music in a slow, soothing way. And I felt Clif's presence. Through all the words and comments I had known they were talking about Clif and his absence, but it was the sound of those notes -- the knowing it was Philip playing them -- that brought me to tears. Good tears. Releasing tears. A soothing, gentle goodbye to a man who died too soon. 

Music expresses things words will never achieve. It reaches us in places and ways that nothing else can or ever will. 

When Philip came back to the sanctuary it was evident he had broken down while playing. The connection the music was/is to his brother was impossible to miss. But it was a gift to those of us listening, and I believe it was a boon for Philip as well.

Goodbye, Clif. And thank you for the music!

So I say

Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing

Thanks for all the joy they're bringing

Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty

What would life be?

Without a song or a dance what are we?

So I say thank you for the music

For giving it to me

(Thank You for the Music, Abba)

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