(This was originally written in March of 2011, and I had a brief moment of panic when I couldn’t find it in any of my storage places for my writing. I’m not generally super happy with most of what I write, but this was an exception. Thanks to M for being able to find it a decade later, and passing it on to me.)

I think and talk a lot about the soundtrack to our lives. Some people live life in a silent film, to stretch this metaphor; they never listen to music, or they consider it a nuisance, or (worst) are apathetic about it. I’m on the other end of the spectrum – there’s something constantly being piped out of whatever speakers or headphones that are most convenient. If I had had a say in the matter, there would have been an entrance theme playing in the hospital delivery room back (sometimes I think Puccini’s Nessun Dorma, from Turandot; too many have suggested O Fortuna). If I have a say in the matter, I’ll get to pick my exit music, as well

They called her Nana. In fact, it wasn’t until about thirty minutes ago that I ever knew her actual given name; I had to text my girlfriend to find that out. But then, that’s what you do with grandmothers, right? The first-born grandchild mispronounces the word grandmother, and that nickname sticks forever. It did with me, though I’m still not certain how my lack of speech impediments managed to turn “grandma” into “Merv.”

I never met Nana, as a matter of miles. She was in Boston, after moving here in the middle of last century from Scotland. I did talk to her once, briefly, on the phone, and eavesdropped on a few phone conversations thanks to the iPhone’s speaker. My girlfriend would call her on holidays, and ask her to tell one of her many jokes; she would let me listen in, and her brogue always made me smile, no matter what the punchline was.

Your talent came flowing 
Through the stories they tell 
And through the the faces 
Of those who loved you so well 
Your life gave them a treasure 
A piece of themselves 
Something to carry 
And still serves them well

There are a lot of songs about loss. As much as I don’t pay attention to lyrics, a lot of those songs are rubbish for me, because they’re too morose, or focus too much on the end of things. Not that that’s bad, or unnatural — I think our tendency as humans is to give in to grief. There’s a lot to be said for the comfort to be found in a blanket of sorrow.

But when it comes to people, to a human life and all that comes with it, I think it’s really important to push past that, as much as possible. Instead of dwelling on the loss, focus on the memories of the good, the things that impacted us as people, as friends and family and, sometimes, strangers.

I don’t know the full story behind Brian May’s Just One Life like I do with some other songs, but I kind of like it that way. To me, it’s the perfect song for today. It’s a poignantly sung lyric, a beautiful melody with a perfect arrangement, and if I tried for a million lifetimes, I couldn’t put the sentiment into words half as well as he did.

Perhaps inside you 
You were messed up like me 
But them you were whole and strong 
And friend in their need 
And what you left behind you 
And what swept over me 
Says that your life’s work 
Rolls on and on 
A piece of eternity

The exactness of this story is questionable, and the details aren’t important:

There’s a hospital room in Boston, and there are lots of relatives keeping watch over Nana as she sleeps peacefully. One of the relatives has brought in a portable CD player a few days earlier, and my girlfriend suggests in the early afternoon that they play some music (one of the hospice workers had suggested that even though she was sleeping, she might hear what was happening in the room around her). Her brother mentioned her favorite CD, and so they put the disc in and hit play, and as the first notes of her favorite music began to fill the room, she took her final breath, and moved on to whatever you want to believe happens next.

And through all the mixed feelings that flooded my head when I was being told this story, as the words rode the airwaves and bounced off of satellites and crossed the hundreds of miles between Birmingham and Boston, as memories of my own grandmothers bounced around like pinballs, one thought was constant: Nana was a lucky woman. With all the craziness in the world today, out of all the possibilities, she got to pass from this world sleeping peacefully, surrounded by people that loved her and listening to her favorite music. If I can save all my good karma and choose how to spend it, I think I’d like to cash it in on exactly that.

Rest peacefully, Nana. Your spirit carries on.

Just one life 
That is born, and is, and is gone 
Just one life 
And I’m so glad to know you 
As I know you

Brian May, Just One Life

These were the best of times
I’ll miss these days
Your spirit lit my life each day
My heart is bleeding bad
But I’ll be okay
Your spirit guides my life each day

Dream Theater, The Best of Times

For Susan McGregor (1922-2011)

Just One Life lyrics written by and ©1993 Brian May, from the album “Back To The Light”; The Best of Times written by and ©2009 Mike Portnoy, from the album “Black Clouds & Silver Linings