Have you ever heard this song by The Verve called “Bittersweet Symphony”? Most of you probably. Rolling Stone named it one of the best rock songs of all time. If not, here’s the video:
Here are some of the lyrics:
‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony this life
Trying to make ends meet, you’re a slave to the money then you die
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah
No change, I can’t change, I can’t change, I can’t change,
but I’m here in my mold , I am here in my mold
But I’m a million different people from one day to the next
I can’t change my mold, no, no, no, no, noWell, I’ve never prayed,
But tonight I’m on my knees, yeah
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind , I feel free now
But the airwaves are clean and there’s nobody singing to me now
This song came to mind when I returned to Nebraska last week for Thanksgiving with my family. Bittersweet was the way I thought it.
Anita and I first heard this song in the movie “Cruel Intentions”, which was something of a favorite of Anita’s – the movie and the song. Anita had been asking me to download some songs and make a mix for her iPod for a while, so I finally did it on August 24, 2008. “Bittersweet Symphony” was one of the songs she chose for the mix.
My interpretation of the song is that life can be good, but it’s tough and you often feel trapped in who you are. It’s difficult to change. Seems apropos to Anita’s situation although a bit dark since she was such a bright light.
It’s these feelings that we share even if our stories are different. Our struggles to make it. Our struggles to become better people.
We left for our Thanksgiving trip on Anita’s birthday, November 21st. Anita’s parents rode with us. Just before we left town, we left some balloons and a dozen roses on her grave. I cleaned all of the leaves off the grass. It was raining. Julia and I were the only ones who got out of the car. It was emotional, stone-in-your-stomach gut wrenching.
But the remainder of the day was better – for me at least. The next day was good too. We rolled into Lincoln on Sunday night and I delighted in pointing out to the kids all of the things from the 6 years we lived there: the church where we got married, the apartment building where we lived, Anita’s Delta Gamma sorority house. Some of the city was changed and some was exactly the same. It was dark and cool and sweet. We had a nice night at Anita’s brother’s house.
The next morning, I left with the kids for Grand Island to see my parents. Driving through Lincoln in the daylight and seeing the city - the restaurants we ate at, the stores we shopped at, the campus buildings where we took classes – that brought a bitter emptiness. The memories had been made WITH Anita, but now I was here WITHOUT Anita.
If Lincoln brought initial sweetness, Grand Island brought initial lonliness. Driving the highways into town brought back the feelings I felt before I met Anita, the days I was emotionally adrift. My parents’ house was similar to Lincoln; some of it had changed and some was exactly the same. But it still felt like home and the kids enjoyed being at their grandparents’ house.
We spent some time shopping in Grand Island the next day. I kept looking at people, seeing if I thought they were about 38 years old. Did I know them from school? Were their kids about the right age?
I did see one of my high school friends that night at a college basketball game where my nephew was playing. We talked about my family, our lives and laughed really hard about silly high school stuff. The next two days we spent with grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and it was great. Gatherings like that are always full of love and laughs. I never felt sad until I was alone at night in the hotel room wondering how could I be here in my life without Anita?
My life is full of music - always has and always will be – and this experience was definitely a bittersweet symphony: an emotional mix of laughter, love, longing and emptiness. There’s nobody singing to me now.
