It's hard for me to listen to Creedance without remembering that it was the soundtrack to the breakup of my youthful marriage. I listen to Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah' with memories of a hot summer in Sydney and a heart full of fear of someone dying. I still remember listening to the soundtrack of 'Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?' and I remember of sitting with my son and talking about the power of song alongside the power of faith and hope. It's hard to believe that 6 years ago today at approximately 7 a.m. this same son Cass left this mortal coil at 31 years of age. A man full grown but always this mothers first baby. On that day, and following, I was told many times that time will heal. At the time I didn't want to hear about time - time was ripping him away from me like a flooded river.
Time was already making a memory of him as the minutes between him living and dead ticked away. I wanted time to stop. I wanted his living flesh, his voice, his physical occupation of his place in our family. Time doesn't stop of course, and here I am, six years on with only his memory. Now of course, memory is wonderful. It is all I have
but I am glad that he lived, glad that I have the memory. Time doesn't heal - this loss is too momentous. Time has allowed all things to settle and my grief, although ongoing and sometimes crippling, has found its place. Life like death marches on and we are all okay, or not. My son lived, and mattered, as all of us live and matter. We die and that does not make us matter less. Think of my son Cass for a minute today in action. Look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you matter, then go and hug those you love and tell them you are enriched by their existence. Life is being lived - time is passing. Right now there is joy and sorrow - embrace both. The music lives on.