The Therapy Sessions #10: "Do Not Resuscitate"

If you have been following this series, you know that, instead of going through a journey of grief using journaling like I did after my dad died, I am navigating  the valley of childhood abuse by putting my thoughts into songs. 

Specifically, I am writing lyrics and (as I am not a songwriter) Suno is helping me match it to lyrics. 

 As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I have not added details in this series, nor do intend to.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. I have been learning the past few just how wildly impactful our childhood is.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet. Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

The seventh song was a reminder that it was not my fault, though I have carried that weight for decades, and lived out that legacy by defaulting to carrying the blame for things that go wrong. 

The 8th song, "I Won't Be That Kind Of Man", was about my determination not to pass on the legacy of trauma I endured.

The 9th song is called "I Won't Be That Kind of Man." We can choose what to do with legacies: pass them on, or change them. I'm doing a bit of both. 

This song is a recent one. I have been through some dark times of the soul where life felt like more than I could handle. When I am in that space, there can be moments when I think about death - and yearn for it. That doesn't mean that I wanted to end my life; it just meant there was a stark moment when I realized I longed for my eternal rest. 

In my journey - and perhaps in yours? -  there are times I am intensely in love with this life. I have so many wonderful family and friends around me, and I have had so many blessings. Then there are the days that overwhelm with the legacies of the sinful brokenness of the world. Both are true. Hopefully, this song captures both.

"Do Not Resuscitate"


The mirror says I’m older than my years 

Every little burden leaves a mark

“God won’t give more than you can handle”

Are just words while I cry in the dark

My thoughts all now feel disconnected

Like sparks that go out as they rise

I ain’t looking for peace anymore now

Just anything to dry out my eyes


[Chorus]

Now I lay me down to sleep

And Jesus sits with me while I weep

And if I die before I wake

Do not resuscitate



[Verse 2]

I know there’s life past the curtain

Every wound finally understood

Relief from the grief will be certain

And broken things heal like they should

And I believe scarred hands will hold me

No shame, just hope to amaze 

So if God calls me home before morning

Don’t drag me back from glorious days


[Chorus]


I don’t hate life

I’m just tired

Tired of heartbreak and tears

Tired of carrying everybody’s pain

While mine just languishes here

Still…

There’s a table for me in the kingdom

And I hear my chair scraping the floor

Some nights I ache to stay present

Some nights I ache for eternity more



Now I lay me down to sleep

And Jesus sits with me while I weep

And if I die before I wake

All that’s sad God will finally unmake

So please….

Do not resuscitate

The Therapy Sessions #7: "You Were Never To Blame"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma.  On the other end of the spectrum,I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s. 

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet.  Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

Today's song is another perspective from adult me as I look back on Little Me and speak truth to push out the lies.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"You Were Never To Blame"

https://suno.com/s/grhd2tRjpJwIhWOA

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Targeted by others who would sin

Prepare for the people, who would circle again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Ashamed and confused by the hands of grown men,

Try to make sure it won’t happen again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

Chorus

9 year old boy, you were never to blame,

They branded your soul with their own shame.

You made it through by forgetting the pain—

And their own darkness, told you your name.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Already collapsing before it begins,

Show anyone else what kept happening then?

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten, 

Know he wasn’t the problem—the problem was them

And one day there’ll be light, but it’s dark until then…

Chorus

You carried the silence as long as you could,

Believing that darkness was stronger than good.

But truth has a voice that burns through the shame—

It calls to the boy, and it speaks your true name.

Chorus

None of their darkness, can tell you…

Your name is…

Beautiful Boy.

The Therapy Sessions #5: "Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.   

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s.  I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s - and it's not unusual for men to remember this kind of stuff.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

This one needed to be quiet and gentle. If you listen to all the songs, you'll see I'm not trying to stick with one style. I'm getting Suno to help me find the mood that matches what I'm feeling. The next one is going to be noisy; this one is not.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

https://suno.com/s/8wOQshlcDA7BjX8T

Dear Jesus, I’ve got questions,

Some thoughts, and a few suggestions

And there might be a confession,

But we’ll see

I wonder why so much is bad

In a world where so much makes me glad?

And in the memories that I have

Why did so many have to be so sad?

I wonder why you didn’t end

The hypocrisy and the pretend

More quickly, with more time to send

Someone to help me mend

And just for me, for Little Me

Looking down on us, did you also see

The many things I tried to flee?

So why did you just let them be?

My thoughts are jumbled, to be clear

But I think I see a pattern here:

Confusion, questions, pain and fear.

I see at least that through my tears.

My suggestions won’t surprise you, Lord

I’ll bet you’ve heard these ones before

What if you found a way to store

My past behind a massive door

Until I was safe to explore

What happened.

What if you found a way to mend

The broken, and to send

All sins so far around the bend

We would not deal with them again.

What if you found a way to show

That when we harvest what others sow

You’re right here with us, down below

You’re right here with us, in our woe.

What if you found a way to heal

With love, and hope, and make unreal

The legacy of wounds that steals

So that in the end, you’d finally deal

with all that is so sad.

What if you finally rebuild

all of creation, reconciled,

Free of the curse; no one defiled

God’s all in all, and so this child

Can rest.

I’ll lay my questions down

I’ll lay my worries down

If You’re healing all things in the end

If Your love gets the final word

I will rest now.

I will rest now.

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 ("Oh Death, My Enemy, My Friend")

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.

In the other songs, 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. This is a new poem song the kind of grew as I was reprocessing a lot of those old (and familiar) emotions.

So, here is the fifth 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.) 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).

"O Death, My Enemy, My Friend"

O, death
My enemy, my friend,
You take those I love,
And free them from pain
What am I to do
With this dilemma
That my loss
Is their gain.

Oh, life
My enemy, My friend,
You keep near those I love
Yet keep them in pain.
What am I to do
with this dilemma
That their pain
Is my gain.

Oh love,
My enemy, My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

Oh, grief
My enemy, My friend,
You keep close those I love
And keep me in pain
What am I to do
with this dilemma
The cost of love
Is a loss I disdain.

Oh love,
My enemy,
My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

When loss cuts so deep,
And wounds just won’t mend,
When I’m bruised by my loss
And I’ve nothing to lend
I lift up my grief,
I pull in my breath,
And I cry for the One
Who has conquered all death.

Oh love,
My enemy,
My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

Oh, Jesus,
My friend
my good friend,
You hold close those I love
In life or in death
I know what you do
with this dilemma
You loved them in life
And love them in death.

And I hate all my aching
But I love that they rest
And one day I’ll see them
In the land of the blessed.

The song: https://suno.com/s/OtYrvJFn2kSQegZg

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

A Monster Calls

I read Patrick Ness’s A Monster Calls a year ago. I chose not to write about it because it was too personal, too magnificently beautiful to risk messing with the way it lingered. Now that the movie is out, I think I’m ready.

SPOILERS WILL ABOUND!!

As a young boy struggles to navigate the reality of his mother’s cancer and the increasingly futile treatments, a monster calls. This monster, an ancient tree that comes to life, insists the boy called him. Now that he is there, he will tell the boy three stories and the boy will tell him the fourth. These storytelling episodes are interspersed with real world challenges: he is being bullied at school; his estranged father is visiting again; his relationally distant grandmother is being forced to play an increasing role in his life; his mother is steadily succumbing to the cancer she is trying to hard to defeat.

The monster’s stories are meant to prepare the boy for what is inevitable. When I first read the book, the stories confused me, but as I watched the movie’s depiction some pieces fell into place. Here’s my theory for what it's worth. The stories are about some of the greatest fears in universal human experience: Life is unfair (the first story), hope and faith can be lost (the second story); and we will never matter (the third story). [1]

The Ache, But Not The Emptiness

I am re-reading Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas series. I had forgotten how talented Koontz is at addressing momentous topics with creativity and seriousness. Close to the end of Odd Hours, Koontz writes the following:

"Grief can destroy you - or focus you.  You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone.  Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill.  

 It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it.  The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to you knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss.  And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."

The Childlike Hunger of Grief

    At the National Writer's Series at the Opera House in Traverse City, I met Tom Perrotta, author of The Leftovers (among many other books).  The book is a certainly a dig at the Left Behind crowd (the Leftovers are people who remain after a Rapture-like event), but that plot device is just the backdrop for a story about grief and loss.

    When I began reading, I thought this book would perhaps be a screed against the idiocy of Christians who believe in the Rapture. By the time I was done, the precipitating event has given way to a poignant story of the effect of cataclysmic loss on a small town.

     As the evening progressed at the Writer's Series, two main thoughts struck me.

     First, Mr. Perrotta and I are very different when it comes to our view of God, faith, religion, and social issues, though he was very tactful when talking about people and beliefs with whom he disagrees.  He was careful to note that he used the Rapture scenario because it was in the culture's imagination thanks to the Left Behind series, and he decided to use it as a way to explore how communities respond to such massive upheaval.