7. Silly Love Songs

May 25, 2021

You’d think that people would have had enough of silly love songs.
I look around me and I see it isn’t so.
Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.
And, what’s wrong with that?

– “Silly Love Songs,” Wings / Paul and Linda McCartney (1976)

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The boy is on edge, yet again, pacing around the kitchen as I’m cooking dinner.

He’s verbalizing a litany of guttural noises and warning phrases. “Don’t. Hurt.” “It’s not working.” “Exit. Exit.”

When he’s cycling up like this, I usually toss multiple strategies his way, hoping one or more will calm him.

My reminders to try deep breathing, or relaxing videos, or his weighted blanket, or to just go sit down are becoming more about what I need than what he might need. 

I’m playing music from a random Pandora station, in an effort to either distract him from his agitation or drown out his anxious patter. 

He is right. It’s not working.

The temperature in the kitchen is rising, and one of us is about to boil over.

I’d like to think I’ve improved as a caregiver over the past few years, finding more patience, compassion, and understanding to support this young man.

Tonight those talents are not evident. Ah, the absurdity of snapping at someone to use your <bleeping> coping skills.

I’m irritated that he’s irritated, which is not helpful, but there it is. It’s been a long day.

Then, the next song begins to play. 

And everything, for me at least, changes.

Image by Thomas Breher from Pixabay

I am easily impacted by music. I probably say, “Oh! I love this song!” way too often. There are many styles of music and performances that move me to dance, sing, or otherwise embarrass my family. 

And then there are the songs that are guaranteed to make me cry. I’m a sucker for artists who can weave a story with their lyrics and who believe (and make us believe) what they are singing.

No matter how many times I hear these songs (I’ve put links to a few below), I am transported by the passion each singer conveys. I can’t help myself.

I still feel the aching, unrequited love that Eponine carries for Marius in Les Miserables, more than 30 years after first hearing (and memorizing) “On My Own.”

I’ve heard Sarah McLachlan’s “When She Loved Me” a million-zillion times (conservative estimate), and I still cry for Jessi when that song shows us her heartbreaking abandonment in Toy Story 2.

When I hear music that connects in some way to my kid, forget it. I’m a mess.

Like The Voice winner Carter Rubin’s performance of “You Say” this past fall. Lauren Daigle wrote this as a song of Christian faith, but Carter’s powerful delivery – as a teenager who has experienced bullying (and who has an autistic older brother) – shocked me into tears. He sang of everything I hope my son hears from me. 

You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
And you say I am held when I am falling short
And when I don't belong, oh you say I am yours.
And I believe…What you say of me.
I believe.

And, that epic outsiders’ anthem “This is Me” performed by the phenomenal Keala Settle (from The Greatest Showman). 

I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I’m meant to be. This is me.

I want these words belted out at every first day of school on campuses claiming to be inclusive. 

I don’t seek out songs that make me cry, but they have a way of finding me.

Sometimes they sneak up on me. To give me just what I need.

Image by Skyler H. from Pixabay

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In this kitchen bubbling over with frayed nerves and frustrations, Pandora opens my heart.

My anxious thoughts fall silent.

Heart beats fast,
Colors and promises
How to be brave?
How can I love when I’m afraid to fall

But watching you stand alone,
All of my doubt
Suddenly goes away somehow.
One step closer.

It doesn’t matter that “A Thousand Years” was created for one of those terrible Twilight movies. I don’t hear the teenaged angst of sparkly vampires in Christina Perri’s lines; I hear a stronger truth for myself, and my son. 

At her chorus, I am helpless.

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

Here, in my kitchen, I am flooded with an instinctual, eternal love.

A love for this struggling boy standing alone, within arm’s reach but not reachable.

The beauty of this song reconnects me to that love. That love is always there, it fuels everything I do. And, that love is the reason these moments of disengagement are so painful.

And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

My eyes soften. My breathing slows. 

I watch his pacing with a little less impatience.

I see him and remember.

Yes, some of our days might feel like 1,000 years.

But irritation and fatigue and exasperation and worry do not cancel out love.

Love fiercely endures.

Maybe I should play this song on a continuous loop on days like this—or craft a whole playlist of those voices that sing to me of devotion and bravery and belief and strength and tenderness. All of that music that I am embarrassed to say makes me cry.

I need to fill my world with silly love songs.

And, what’s wrong with that?

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Thanks for reading. I hope you hear some music that moves you today. Here are some of the other songs I could not get out of my head while writing this piece.

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And, another from back in the day that has taken on new meaning for me, today—