At the memorial service for my dad, my nephew, Chris Kiehne, sang a John Denver song:
Still I love to see the sun go down
And the world go around
And I love to see the morning
As it steals across the sky
I love to remember
And I love to wonder why
“Around and Around” was the perfect choice for celebrating Dad’s great zest for the world. Thank you, Chris. (I get a real kick that my nephew even knows who John Denver is. I thought only old fogies like me know John Denver.)
My father died, still exuberant at 92, while taking what was supposed to be a short nap. My mother went to wake him and he was gone. Still in his bed, but gone.
I had a moment when I realized that my father was really dead. I stepped in the study and saw, on the bookshelves, his CDs.
Dad adored music. Now he would never play his beloved CDs. Never listen to “God of Our Fathers” or “A Mighty Fortress” on Sunday morning before church. Never blast John Philip Sousa on the Fourth of July or Ray Conniff at Christmas. Never slip on my favorite songs just for me or play “Alberta Bound” to remind my daughters of the fun they had dancing to the song when they were little.
“Take some of his CDs,” my mom said, and I did.
But I didn’t play them. Couldn’t. Too sad.
I had a few dreams that my father wasn’t really dead. He called us up. “I’m fine,” he said standing in a phone booth. (He wasn’t much for cell phones.) “I’ll be home soon.”
But he didn’t come home.
And for about six months I had the strange feeling that I could bring him back. Yes, me. (Hey, it’s not that weird. Joan Didion recounts a similar idea in The Year of Magical Thinking.)
But Dad didn’t reappear. And his CDs sat on my kitchen shelf. Silent.
But then one day I put one on. And then another and another. Gordon Lightfoot. Phantom of the Opera. Mama Mia. Simon and Garfunkel. Peter, Paul and Mary. South Pacific. The Drifters. Mitch Miller. Willie Nelson. Glen Campbell. John Denver.
Dad in the music! Dad in my kitchen! Back to life. Not in the same way, but still, back to life.
Photo Above: One of the last pictures of my father, Ernie Kiehne, taken in his office in Baltimore for an article in The Baltimore Sun.
Photo Below: At my daughter Katherine’s wedding, with me, June, 2007.
My nephew, Chris Kiehne, is a singer/songwriter who lives in Brooklyn. He says: “I write songs about dogs, wolves, Hamlet, living and dying, Baltimore County, the Loch Raven reservoir, and dark forests. A lot of the music that my friends and I make is available for free download at our collective website, theburgundycord.tumblr.com. You can also listen to music online at chriskiehne.bandcamp.com.”
“Around and Around”: You can hear John Denver singing his magnificent “Around and Around” here. Of course, even though he wrote the song, John doesn’t sing it nearly as well as my nephew did that August 2010 morning.
PS: Dad was an Orioles fan, therefore the touches of orange in this post. He loved classical music as well, especially Brahams and Beethoven, but mom asked that I leave the classical CDs for her. I also left some I thought my brother, a musician too, would like.
What a sweet remembrance and a beautiful picture of you and your dad. I enjoyed the newspaper article about him, too. (Noticed that your mom used the word “darling,” just like you do!)
LikeLike
You’re so darling to notice!
LikeLike
I was lucky to meet your dad. He was such a vital and interesting man; so alive! Wonderful that you can experience him again through his favorite music. I guess the saying that a person never dies when he is remembered by those who love him is true. Lovely tribute to him!
LikeLike
Yes, I never got that until he died–first loss of a major figure in my life–that they do live on. And each differently, I think, which is cool too.
LikeLike
Thank you for sharing this, Barbara. It touches my heart.
LikeLike
Thanks for reading!
LikeLike
Barb.. I love it! I’ve had dreams too of having a brief visit with my dad, and his being happy, comfortable and well…than so quickly our little visit is over. I miss him… yet we “grew” into his absence more slowly than you did. What a pair they were!
LikeLike
I still remember the time your mom had a dinner party and your dad and mine played some kind of a game stacking your mother’s antique tea cups. And they broke some. My mom was mortified! She went to Hutzlers and tried to find replacements but no luck.
LikeLike
Don’t forget ‘Alberta Bound’
LikeLike
I just added it. You three made a great dancing team. Remember when he would go into a falsetto toward the end!
LikeLike
Cute!!
Wait till you see the video I have. And you should watch the one from 4th of July circa 1988 too!
LikeLike
Even though this is a blog, in part, about aging with grace, I’m not sure I want to see how young I looked!
LikeLike
Thanks for sharing, Barbara; enjoyed this glimpse of your Dad:)
LikeLike
Thanks for reading. And Meg Tipper’s book just arrived. It’s going to the top of my reading stack.
LikeLike
You post made me cry (in a good way). My sainted mother-in-law said that we never truly die as long as we live in the memory of those who love us. I cherish that thought.
LikeLike
Thanks for telling about the tears. Pleases me my words have a bit of tear-invoking power.
LikeLike
Oh….I hate when you spot a mistake the MOMENT you’re pressing send (or post comment). Make that *Your*….
LikeLike
No trouble. We didn’t even notice!
LikeLike
That was a lovely post – thanks for sharing
LikeLike
Thank you! I had a sweet time writing it.
LikeLike
Walking down memory is so good for the soul. Lovely post.
LikeLike
Thanks. See you soon at the gym, I hope. I’m in my “too busy to exercise” mode, which always results in holiday weight gain.
LikeLike
by all accounts your father lives on in you barbara! he seemed like a real character and you are too!! 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks! (or at least I hope it’s good to be a character.)
LikeLike
Gail told me you had posted a story about your Dad. It was so sweetly done, Barb. It brought back several memories I had after Mama died. One, a couple months after she had died I was in line at the Dillards at the U-mall with her birthday gift in my hand ready to purchase. When it hit me that she was not with me anymore, I burst into tears and ran from the store. What always makes my birthday bittersweet, is our birthdays are the same week in April. It is amazing when or how the memories come back. take care.
LikeLike
Such a sweet but sad story. So you really forgot she was gone? I think that happens. I’ve heard of people who pick up the phone and dial the number, only remembering when he or she doesn’t answer that their loved one is gone.
LikeLike
Oh, yes, Barbara …..1. What a sweet (A word I rarely use and only intentionally) posting. 2. I recall that , when my grandmother died, Iwent through all the motions, so to speak, with the rest of the family, but I didn’t exactly cry. It was only a couple of months later that I heard something funny and, as had been my habit for years, immediately picked up the telephone it with her (she was the family member with whom I always shared amusing anecdotes or jokes). I suddenly;t realized she wouldn’t be there….and would continue to not be there. And, yes I burst out crying, standing in a kitchen two states away from my hometown. This has happened to me twice since then (there are certain folks I always telephone when I'[ve heard something funny). Do you know this song by Kate Rusby?….go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=No5FkAmTaJY
LikeLike
Gorgeous song. Playing again and listening carefully. The tears are good.
LikeLike
I just did that – Gretch and I will miss an upcoming engagement party for a cousin. While thinking about what gift to buy and how to get it to the party which is 50 miles away, I actually thought “I’ll give it to Mom! She’ll take it for me.”
Thanks for sharing this! Fun to reread! And Alberta Bound was a hit on the radio one year when we went to Canada, so we sang along in the car. Alberta was too far, but I did make it there about 10 years ago.
LikeLike
Robin, I had a similar experience 2 years ago. It was about 6 weeks after my mom had died. I was shopping on black Friday, and saw a 2 for 1 sale on petite shirts. I picked up 2 thinking “oh, one for me and one for (guess who).” When it hit me all at once that no, I wouldn’t be shopping for her ever again, I was paralyzed on the spot. Another woman was standing there with her mom–they were looking for the 2nd petite shirt in the size in my hand. I handed it to her, and said “Merry Christmas,” and, like you, went straight to the car with the tears streaming.
Robin and Barbara, take care. We’re all in this together.
LikeLike
A very touching post Music, and the memories and emotions it evokes,can be so powerful. Beautiful photo of you with Ernie. He was a great man and lives on in you and your children.
LikeLike
Thank you so much Candace!
LikeLike
Mrs. Younger, I remember the day that you came to class, like a champ, and announced to us that your father had passed away. I remember thinking, “Wow! This woman, who’s just lost the first man she ever loved, is such a dedicated teacher that she’s still here, standing confident, for us, her students.” That was so admirable to me. I believe your father was extremely proud of you that day, and will be forever for your many accomplishments in life. And as far as dreaming and thinking about bringing him back to life, it is possible. You just have to keep his spirit alive. I, to this day, still think and dream about many of my loved ones who passed away. Especially my ‘grampa’. (No offense to any other deceased hehe.) I live every day in their memories.
LikeLike
ALEX!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was just thinking about you and Jacob the other day! Two of my favorite students. Thank you so much for your kind words. Come see me in the ASC, I am there on Tuesday and Wednesday, this semester and next. Hi to Jacob. I hope you’re still writing. You know who talented you are!
LikeLike
I lost my dad over a year ago and I still often forget to talk about him in the past tense. I think when you lose a major influence in your life, they are such a part of you that you’re unable to conceive of a world where they don’t exist. Your brain just never really makes that connection. It’s so lovely to hear you speak of your dad so fondly, rather than sadly. When I talk about mine, I laugh and smile and feel grateful to have been his daughter.
I also believe that when you dream of the dead, they are coming to say hello to you. I have only dreamed about my dad twice since he died. Both times I cried in my dream so much that I think he stopped coming. Oops! So maybe your dad was just giving you a call to let you know that he’s ok, and to say hi 🙂
LikeLike
Miranda, I’m so sorry you lost your dad (and I’m guessing that he was much younger than my dad.)
Before I lost mine, I had heard over and over again how much the happy memories stay with you and help keep that person alive. I always thought that was something people just said to be nice. Now I understand how true it is.
Keep dreaming–he’ll come back.
LikeLike
Love the photo and story. Listen to the music of his and your soul. Just for a moment, time will stand still and you’ll be together again.
LikeLike
Thanks so much for your thoughts!. I’ve been surprised how much the good memories, esp. the ones that go back to early childhood, do help in the grieving process. I’m still kind of in shock sometimes that my dad died (esp. so fast) and sometimed I find myself being a little annoyed at him (which I know is beyond logic!)
LikeLike
Emotions are not logical in any way,shape, or form, nor are they meant to be. Grief is a bit like a first ride on a ferris wheel filled with menopausal women–ups and downs, loss of control, fear of the unknown, with a little nausea thrown in. At some point the ride does end, but you’re never quite the same after having experienced it. We feel, therefore we live.
LikeLike
How lovely to get to know your dad through your memories, and his music. And your dream where he calls you from the phone booth and says he’s fine and will be home soon, made me cry. I agree with Miranda above: there’s no reason not to believe him.
LikeLike
Ann, Thank you! The dream was so real and he was so real. It wasn’t one of those twisted dreams. I haven’t had any dreams since those. My dad was such a huge talker though, that I can see him getting so entrenched in heavenly conversations that he’s just a bit busy for dream visiting these days.
LikeLike
Beautiful post, and fine remembrances…he is greatly missed.
LikeLike
Music was the one way my father and I could still connect as his Alzheimers progressed. We sang all the songs he sang to me when I was a little girl, and I learned some songs from the ’40s because he remembered them so well.
LikeLike
So sweet. I remember Jordan dancing with him on the porch at your wedding!
LikeLike