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Losing My Longtime Friend and Finding Solace in Music
I initially intended to write a heartfelt tribute to the ukulele, that delightful little instrument that’s both affordable and joyful. It’s such a pleasure to have one around the house, just waiting to be played. My son loves to bring it along in the car, strumming away to Stromae or even my beloved playlist of Joni Mitchell. My partner picks it up to create spontaneous melodies about our messy living room. At gatherings, someone inevitably picks it up to play that iconic version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, and I can’t help but feel a rush of happiness. My main message was going to be simple: you should definitely get yourself a ukulele.
But everything changed when my oldest friend—a true soulmate for 43 years—passed away. In the wake of her loss, I realized I had something different to express: music has become my sanctuary, my own form of faith.
After her passing, I returned home from New York following her memorial service. Friends, whom I affectionately call “The Crew,” came over, bringing food and love to help us through our grief. We sipped just the right amount of wine and a bit too much of a Polish honey liqueur that had an unfortunate resemblance to cat pee. I laughed, cried, and shared stories about my friend’s final days. We even played a round of Boggle.
Then, as often happens, my son settled at the piano, and others grabbed instruments. Before I knew it, we were all singing together. There’s an amazing array of talent in our circle, but even those who can’t play an instrument join in with their voices, adding to the beautiful tapestry of sound. The essence is in the melody and harmony.
We sang heartfelt songs like Joni Mitchell’s “River” and The Beatles’ “Let It Be.” We belted out Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird” and the emotional “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen, singing every stunning verse. The teenagers were searching for lyrics on their phones, and it felt like pure bliss.
Typically, our musical gatherings are filled with joy, but this time was different. We usually plan fun hootenannies where friends who play instruments—guitars, banjos, drums, and yes, ukuleles—come together to play our favorite tunes. Here’s a sneak peek at some songs we love:
- “I’ll Fly Away” by Alison Krauss
- “Kick Drum Heart” by Avett Brothers
- “When My Time Comes” by Dawes
- “Pecan Pie” by Wilco
- “Kids” by MGMT
- “Goddamn Lonely Love” by Drive-By Truckers
- “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” (Guns N’ Roses version)
Not your style? Feel free to pick your own favorite songs to share! We sometimes send around a song a couple of weeks in advance so everyone can learn their parts. Even if you’re like me and lack musical talent, you can still enjoy the experience.
During my friend’s final moments in hospice, death felt less like a gentle lily and more like an octopus she was fighting against. But a lovely young music therapist arrived with her guitar and played soothing tunes like “Across the Universe” and “I and Love and You.” My friend smiled, finding comfort in the music. At her service, the cantor sang “You Must Believe in Spring,” filling the space with warmth and hope.
Music doesn’t provide the comforts of organized religion, like an afterlife or a neat explanation of existence. But if you seek the essence of life, it’s found in song—an act of communion and celebration. Leonard Cohen captures it perfectly: “And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.”
So gather your friends, print some lyrics, and make music together. Whether you have instruments or just your voices, it’s a beautiful way to connect.
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In summary, this piece reflects on the power of music as a source of comfort and connection, especially during times of grief, encouraging readers to gather with loved ones, sing together, and create joy amid sorrow.