A couple of nights ago I put my Natalie Merchant cd in as I went to sleep, and to my surprise it was great sleeping music. I probably hadn't put this album in for 2 or 3 years, but it is pretty good.
Last weekend was Little Sib's weekend on campus. When my sister went to school here and lived in the dorms I went bowling with her on Little Sib's weekend. I remember I had just gotten my guitar around that time, so it must have been 7th or 8th grade. Anyway, I spent the night in one of her friends rooms, Mitch I think his name was. He put on Natalie Merchant as we went to sleep. Strange how stuff like that sticks with you.
Julie has always been a good sister. She used to do things that just showed she cared about me. When I went to Camp Challenge one summer, maybe the first year I went even she sent a box of goodies with me like baseball card packs and snacks. We got along pretty well for brothers and sisters. With a 4.5 year spread it wasn't until she was gone that I was old enough to wish I spent more time with her.
Right now, Beloved Wife is playing on the Natalie Merchant album. It's about a wife that is dying or recently died and the person doesn't know how they will go on. I remember listening to this song when I found out my Mom had cancer when I was young. It never really sunk in I think that my Mom could have died so many years ago. I was too young to understand. No one close to me has ever died. Two of my former teachers have died. A few childhood friends have passed away, but no one current. Death is an avenue I have yet to visit. My grandparents are quite old and all still alive. I have a lot of pain to look forward to in life. I can't imagine myself being depressed or mad at God. Maybe I'll get the chance to see what those things are like. Or maybe I really do have a sense that life is life and when it ends eternity in heaven awaits for each of my grandparents, where they can go and wait for me.
Song of the Day: San Andreas Fault - Natalie Merchant
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment