Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("Lord, I'm Tryin'")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

I recently found something else I wrote during those years of grieving his loss.  As with the others songs, I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence and added a chorus.

So, here is the sixth song, with lyrics first and a link to the song second (the first song is here; the second one is here, the third one here, the fourth one here, the fifth one here. )  You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

"Lord, I'm Tryin'"

Got home last evenin'

Opened up my door
To three boys and a puppy
Who promptly used the bathroom on the floor

And I said somethin’
Kinda’ under my breath
And my sons all stopped their hollerin’
And repeated what I said

[Chorus] So Lord, I’m tryin’
But before this night is through
I’ll need You.

Woke up the next mornin’
Stumbled out of my room
Found the mornin’ paper
With all its stories full of doom and gloom

And I said “Honey,”
Compared to them I’m great.”
So she pointed out some stuff I did
Just to help me see things straight.

So Lord I’m tryin’
But before this day is through
I need you

One winter evenin’
I picked up the phone
And my mom said, “Hurry.
I don’t think Dad’s gonna’ make it;

 come home.”

But I never made it
Before his light went dim.
And because he could not stop for death
Death kindly stopped for him* 

Lord, I’m trying
But now his life is through
And I need you.

And my life’s not yet through
And I really need you.

*Of course, that is Emily Dickinson

https://suno.com/s/9xYSjq7zdbsSawaA

Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("Life Part 2")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.

When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head. With this one, I ended up with an unexpected style, but somehow it connected. See what you think. 

Here is the fourth one, with lyrics first and a link to the song second (the first song is here; the second one is here, the third one here.) You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

"Life Part Two"

Life will never be the same,

I know in my head, but I shield my heart.

People paw through our lives, paying pennies

for 58 years worth of stuff that got stuffed in a cart.

My dad died fast; my Mom’s been slow

to leave her home, alone.

In with the new, Life Part 2,

relentless and cold and kind.

I can’t push it away, don’t really want to,

Dusty memories get hard to find.

Bridges fall, and bridges build,

and somehow both are grace.

What we lose and what we build

still carry the same trace.

Some burn down slow, some burn down fast,

but nothing stays the same.

I’ll build with grace, with grief, with love,

until my own turn comes…

In with the new, Life Part 2,

relentless and cold and kind.

I can’t push it away, don’t really want to,

And memories haunt my mind.. 

I’m standing between the ones who raised me

and the ones who call me “Dad.”

I’m carrying ashes, carrying hope,

building from all I had.

If every bridge is destined to burn,

then let mine blaze with grace—

a fire to warm the ones I love

when they one day take my place.

In with the new, Life Part 2,

Inevitable and somehow kind.

I won’t push it away, I don’t really want to,

Fresh memories are one of a kind. 

Inevitable and somehow kind.

Somehow kind.

The Song: https://suno.com/s/cehgdN9qIkDHUFox

Learning To Jump Again:The Songs ("I Hardened My Heart On A Thursday")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.

When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head. 

Here is the third one (the first one is here; the second one is here.). You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

What follows is the updated poem/lyrics, followed by a link to Suno if you care to listen.

"I Hardened My Heart On A Thursday"

I hardened my heart on a Thursday;
I had to drive south through the night.
Friday morning Mom’s hug broke it open,
But since then it’s been pretty tight.

I shut down my eyes on that Saturday,
The viewing did not need more tears.
That Sunday I shut them much tighter,
And now I’ve been squinting for years.

With a shovel, I buried my father that Monday,
On Tuesday, without one, I buried him more.
When on Wednesday we drove home, heading North, back to normal ,

I buried his memory deep in my core.

Now the drive to be healed is a chisel;
Father Time lends strength to each blow.
And I’m digging my way through my soul, to the core, 

To liberate memories I need more and more.

With a shovel, I buried my father that Monday,
On Tuesday, without one, I buried him more.
When on Wednesday we drove home, heading North, back to normal
I buried his memory deep in my core.

Every layer I lift from my memories
Stirs the dust on the ache in my chest.
What I buried to keep myself steady
Now demands to be held and confessed.
And somewhere below all the rubble and stone,
There’s a son who is yearning to rest.

With a shovel, I buried my father that Monday,
On Tuesday, without one, I buried him more.
When on Wednesday we drove home, heading North, back to normal
I buried his memory deep in my core.

The Song:  https://suno.com/s/auVOhA7YpNMl2vih

Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("No One Tells You")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.

When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head. 

Here is the second one (the first one is here). You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

What follows is the updated poem/lyrics, followed by a link to Suno if you care to listen.

No One Tells You

No one tells you that the viewing
Cuts deeper than the grave,
You dread it like the darkness,
But it’s the moment that you crave.
You walk in feelin’ empty,
But it’s also the place that you’re brave.

No one tells you that the faces
Say words that sound so kind,
But they float like smoke and vanish,
They don’t ease your troubled mind.
Your daddy is silent and cold
And it burns your soul inside.

No one tells you, no one tells you,
What this pain will really do.
No one tells you, no one tells you,
How the grief comes crashin’ through.
You can’t touch him, can’t embrace him,
And the blues just pour from you.

No one tells you ‘bout the moment,
You must lay him in the ground,
How six feet feels like miles,
And the world don’t make a sound.
You walk away still fallin’,
‘Cause your grief knows no bound.

You know the funeral’s over,
But the hurt has just begun,
The days get long and lonely,
When the crowded days are done.
You pray into the silence,
And you wonder if you reach anyone.

And one day when you're drivin’,
And the sun cuts through the haze,
He’s sittin’ right there beside you,
As if he'd moved in to this place.
You pull over just to breathe again,
And let your heart hold space.

No one tells you, no one tells you,
‘Bout the tears you can’t outrun.
No one tells you, no one tells you,
Grief’s a weight that won’t be done.
And in the ache and in the memory,

You just have to let the tears run

You just have to let the tears run.

https://suno.com/s/61VzVJli0rLvOJiy

Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("My Father Just Shriveled")

Some of you - tens, even - have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.

When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems changed for the better. Over time, I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head. 

Here is the first one. (Click on these links for the second, the third, the fourth, fifth and sixth.) You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

I was at an aunt and uncle's house one holiday when I wrote this. It was at the end of a day of being with family, and I missed him so much, and this is just where I was at that moment. It's not hopeful - I have other songs that will get there - but it was honest, and I think God is fan of honesty, and big enough to handle my despair.

 First, the updated poem/lyrics; second, a link to Suno if you care to listen.

My Father Just Shriveled

My father just shriveled, dried up in his bed.
With my tears I watered the grave of the dead.
Then I staggered back home,
A few miles too far
from a father who loved me,
And who was not anymore.

Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
where does a broken man go?

Now my life’s stream is stagnant, losing its flow.
The source has dried up—how was I to know?
A wraith with a sickle stole my peace and my love,
And no water replenishes me from above.

Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
Where does a broken man go?

If death weren’t so sneaky, we’d meet, he and I
If death weren’t so cold, I would greet him.
If death could stop haunting our stories and songs,
We would not have to think of him quite so damn long.
But death is a robber who aims for our souls;
Our lives he despises while grief rivers roll.
He’s cold in his heart, And as fierce as a fire—
and he constantly robs us of those we desire
To stay,
And to live,
And to love.

Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
Tell me—where does a broken man go?
Where does a broken man go?

The Song: https://suno.com/s/91204PbTUXUhx1l3