Melanie's Witch Story: Part 5

Music to sooth the soul, heal grief, and aid in heartbreak.

Melanie sat on her sturdy IKEA chair, held his guitar for the first time since he died, and strummed a few chords. The tears fell and she found she just could not play. Jolting up, she placed his guitar back down and ran to the bed as the tears flooded out of her. Her nose filled with snot. Her head a lead balloon. Why had life taken him from her just as they were going to be married? He left his guitar to her. He always wanted her to play, but she only made it through 15 minutes of one lesson, learned two chords, and stormed out crying in pain from her misery of missing him.

It was a Saturday morning and Melanie had already had enough of life. She struggled to not give up and just go back to bed each day since his death. Wake up, force herself to shower, nibbling enough to barely stay alive. She was in limbo; to live or die and she did not care which won. It was so sudden his death, she had no time to say goodbye. She only received a phone call that he was in a motorcycle accident and when she got to the hospital he was already gone.

Six months had passed and she was still no closer to moving on without him. She still smelled his shirts for his scent, but it was fading. She still stroked his toothbrush as she brushed her teeth with hers. His pillow always in her arms at night. She tried playing his favorite rock CD, but had to turn them off almost instantly. All of his things remained in their apartment. Their apartment they rented together when they decided to live together. Their couch they bought at IKEA and their Cd collection they finally just agreed on how to display. He wanting it alphabetically, her wanting it by genre, and her winning in the end. Every item of his frozen in time, left where he used them, forgotten by a connection now broken.

Maybe tomorrow she would pick up the guitar again, maybe not, but it was part of him and she yearned deeply to be with him in some way. They shared a passion for music. The both loved jazz, rock, and punk. It was how they met three years ago today. She being dragged to a club to hear some rock band by her girlfriend. Him being the lead guitarist in the band. Fate brought them together, it also ripped them apart. Why had he got on that motorcycle? She asked him to drive the car over. The roads were a mess with rain and sleet and definitely not safe for him to be on. She never liked that bike, she always felt unsafe on it, why did he not listen to her? Oh great, she thought, now she was mad at him.

She wanted to be courageous for him, for them, and so she called to schedule another guitar lesson with his band member, James. At least, he understood why she ran out the last time she was there. He was her boyfriend’s best friend since high school, which is when they started this rock band. He played bass in the band, but could easily teach her the acoustic guitar. She gathered her wits, put her boyfriend’s guitar in its case and headed out the door to go to her lesson. She wanted to have this part of him live on in her. She knew she could do it if she could get past his death. It has only been a few months and she needed to not push it, but at what point is she going to be an old spinster women living alone in a museum of memories.

She arrived at James’s studio 15 minutes early. Pacing in front of his studio door, her stomach twisting and turning, her pulse racing, her heart breaking. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. Maybe she could put his guitar on the wall in their museum apartment and maybe she could do like she does with all his things, gently walk around them as to not infect them with her body. She wanted all his memories in pristine condition. Just as she had decided to bolt, James opened his door and ushered her into the studio. He knew she was a flight risk, so he went out to get her early.

His studio was filled with lights, microphones, carpets, drums, and all sorts of instruments. He kept the studio warm for his students, he liked the chill in the air when it was just him. He hugged her tight, they shared the death of someone they both loved, and she moved to take the guitar from the case. He said “No” gently and said “Let’s talk first”. She sighed a sigh so deep it vibrated off the large gray pads on the wall and bounced back inside her. He could tell she was in no mood to talk and she was probably about to leap out of her chair and run like a chicken scrambling from a wolf. He decided to take the guitar from her, she let him gently pry it out of her hands, and he opened it up, seemed to hug it, and played a soft and quiet melody to sooth her mind and heart.

Once relaxed, she closed her eyes and just listened to him play. He could see she needed to vacate herself, her pain, and her fear of losing his memories, so he played. He played for what seemed like a lifetime and she opened her eyes. She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t upset or hurting, she felt lighter then she had since his death. James’s calming music soothed her tired, broken, and aching soul. If music could do this to her after losing the love of her life, she needed to learn how to play. She asked James for the guitar, placed it across her lap, took her fingers and placed them on the neck to make the only two chords she knew and strummed. The music vibrated in her as her sigh had earlier. She knew then she still had a tough road of grieving ahead, but for the first time since he died, she knew she would always have music that would connect them across the barrier of death.

 Photo by pixabay.com

Happy Haunting,

Debbie

xo