Music Heals
A few years ago, I lost a really good friend to suicide.
Wade was one of those people who always cared more about the people around him than he did himself. He didn't care how bad of a mood he was in, if you were around him, you would have a great time.
He was the drummer of my favorite local band.
Since he death, I have had the opportunity to become good friends with the lead singer and bassist of his old band.
The band had a benefit for him (two actually, but it's just the second one that I want to talk about today). A night of loud, angry music while we all mourned for Demon.
Very few people knew, but I was actually considering not attending the benefit. In the eighteen days leading up to it, I had a bit of a crisis of faith. The problem is, my faith is music. Music heals. Music is what will always be there for you. Music had failed me, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
I spent eighteen silent days. If I was in the car, the radio was off. If I was at home, there was no music. I wanted nothing to do with any type of music.
Until that point, music was my life. I was never anywhere without an mp3 player or just singing to myself. I loved live music. I loved singing karaoke. I loved listening to anything. Not any more.
My (now) husband told me if I didn't attend the benefit, I would regret it. I don't even remember what bands played that night other than On My Six and Force Fed Chaos.
In between sets, I stood outside smoking (and usually crying). I couldn't get drug back into the world of music. I just couldn't do it.
There was a man outside with me. I didn't know who he was, but he started talking. I don't remember what the topic was, but eventually, I admitted that I had lost my passion for music. He stood outside for over an hour talking to me before his band had to play.
I don't remember the conversation. I don't remember any of the details from that night other than the fact that this man had opened my eyes. Music didn't fail me. It was still there for me.
I went in and watched this man's band. His name was Stu and he was the bassist. I had never seen the band play before, but I like it. Loud. Angry. Fit my mood perfectly.
Force Fed Chaos (Wade's old band) ended the night. The tears streaming down my face while they playing Ghost and Suicide Letter were something I would never forget. The way the lead singer hugged me and promised everything would be okay. The way my boyfriend (well that's what he was at the time) stood back and let me deal with what I needed to deal with.
Very few people knew how much Wade actually meant to me. Some people thought he was just a crush. Others assumed we had a relationship in the past.
Wade was one of my best friends. He had been since high school. It didn't matter how long we went without talking or seeing each other, because we always picked up exactly where we left off. We were always there for each other until the day that he shot himself.
He posted something cryptic on facebook that night. It had been awhile since the last time we had talked, so I messaged him. We talked for four hours, until I finally had to get some sleep. It was 4 am and I had to be up at 6 to get kids to school and get to work. He shot himself at 4:30.
I spent a long time hating myself. If I had just stayed awake a little bit longer, maybe he would still be here.
It took me years to stop thinking like that. In the end, Wade died like Wade lived; on his own terms. He is still around. I can feel it. Last Saturday night, I swore I saw him walking up to the bar that I was out at (Stu's band was playing, and they became great friends as well, but that is a story for a different time). It was out of the corner of my eye, and when I looked up again, he was gone.
Wade was one of those people who always cared more about the people around him than he did himself. He didn't care how bad of a mood he was in, if you were around him, you would have a great time.
He was the drummer of my favorite local band.
Since he death, I have had the opportunity to become good friends with the lead singer and bassist of his old band.
The band had a benefit for him (two actually, but it's just the second one that I want to talk about today). A night of loud, angry music while we all mourned for Demon.
Very few people knew, but I was actually considering not attending the benefit. In the eighteen days leading up to it, I had a bit of a crisis of faith. The problem is, my faith is music. Music heals. Music is what will always be there for you. Music had failed me, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
I spent eighteen silent days. If I was in the car, the radio was off. If I was at home, there was no music. I wanted nothing to do with any type of music.
Until that point, music was my life. I was never anywhere without an mp3 player or just singing to myself. I loved live music. I loved singing karaoke. I loved listening to anything. Not any more.
My (now) husband told me if I didn't attend the benefit, I would regret it. I don't even remember what bands played that night other than On My Six and Force Fed Chaos.
In between sets, I stood outside smoking (and usually crying). I couldn't get drug back into the world of music. I just couldn't do it.
There was a man outside with me. I didn't know who he was, but he started talking. I don't remember what the topic was, but eventually, I admitted that I had lost my passion for music. He stood outside for over an hour talking to me before his band had to play.
I don't remember the conversation. I don't remember any of the details from that night other than the fact that this man had opened my eyes. Music didn't fail me. It was still there for me.
I went in and watched this man's band. His name was Stu and he was the bassist. I had never seen the band play before, but I like it. Loud. Angry. Fit my mood perfectly.
Force Fed Chaos (Wade's old band) ended the night. The tears streaming down my face while they playing Ghost and Suicide Letter were something I would never forget. The way the lead singer hugged me and promised everything would be okay. The way my boyfriend (well that's what he was at the time) stood back and let me deal with what I needed to deal with.
Very few people knew how much Wade actually meant to me. Some people thought he was just a crush. Others assumed we had a relationship in the past.
Wade was one of my best friends. He had been since high school. It didn't matter how long we went without talking or seeing each other, because we always picked up exactly where we left off. We were always there for each other until the day that he shot himself.
He posted something cryptic on facebook that night. It had been awhile since the last time we had talked, so I messaged him. We talked for four hours, until I finally had to get some sleep. It was 4 am and I had to be up at 6 to get kids to school and get to work. He shot himself at 4:30.
I spent a long time hating myself. If I had just stayed awake a little bit longer, maybe he would still be here.
It took me years to stop thinking like that. In the end, Wade died like Wade lived; on his own terms. He is still around. I can feel it. Last Saturday night, I swore I saw him walking up to the bar that I was out at (Stu's band was playing, and they became great friends as well, but that is a story for a different time). It was out of the corner of my eye, and when I looked up again, he was gone.
Comments
Post a Comment