Tapestry in the Tub

I chose to be alone for my first Friday night in a while.

Tonight I filled the bathtub, lit candles, blasted Carole King’s “Tapestry” album (my mama’s favorite), closed my eyes, smiled, cried, and sang.

That’s grieving, folks! There’s no wrong way to do it.

And it’s really all I needed. I remember snuggling with my mom on our living room couch so often when she was sick, when she would listen to Carole King’s album all the way through, maybe even twice. I think it helped her clear her head. And I, cute child, learned every lyrics to every song and made up elaborate interpretative dances to the music that I’d perform for my mama while she rested post-chemo and other cancer treatments.

Mom spent a lot of time lying down on the couch listening to music over those first years after her diagnosis. I wonder if she was grieving in those moments for the life she knew she wasn’t going to get to have. She had to have been. And I’m sure the contrast of having her five year old daughter dancing around trying to entertain her in her dark moments would bring a tragic smile to her face.

So, tonight in my not-as-dark-as-brain-cancer moment, I thought of the Tapestry album and I took a bath. I thought about what might soothe my spirit. I thought about my mama and what soothed her. I cried for not having had the chance to really know her, but I smiled as I remembered this album as one good memory I do have with her.

I tried wiping away my tears, but they mixed in with the bath water and I lost track of them. There's a metaphor in there somewhere about grief...

Grieve on.