Updated: Sep. 30, 2020
As the familiar melody fills the car, my daughter, Ava, protests from the backseat. “Make it stop! I can’t stand this song!”
“Ava,” I respond, “this is your song!” I can’t help but sing the upbeat refrain of the Neil Diamond classic, “Sweet Ava, good times never seemed so good.” She shakes her head vigorously, belted in at 35 miles per hour, with no chance of escape as I stubbornly keep the station tuned in.
Reflecting on a Neil Diamond concert I attended with my family over a decade ago, shortly after a national tragedy, I recall the sense of comfort that filled the arena. There we were, singing along with 20,000 others, reveling in the nostalgia of his ’70s and ’80s hits. My father turned to me, beaming with joy, as Diamond performed “Sweet Caroline.” That evening, I felt pure happiness in the midst of uncertainty.
Tragically, two weeks later, my father was diagnosed with brain tumors. The news enveloped our family in a cloud of sorrow. In a desperate attempt to uplift him, I sought a signed letter from President Bush, hoping it would offer a glimmer of hope. It arrived just in time for his surgery, and my dad smiled as I read it aloud, but I thought, No, Dad, you are the good man here. This isn’t right. Please, let it stop. He passed away six months later in a stark hospital room.
As I navigated my grief, I discovered I was pregnant, a revelation that caught me off guard while I sat by my father’s side. The pregnancy gave me a reason to take a break from tears. I unearthed the infant car seat and opened Goodnight Moon from my son’s collection, wondering how to bring a new life into a world of grief.
When my daughter was born a month early, we were still uncertain about her name. We wanted something that honored my father, but traditional names like Gordon or Cleveland didn’t fit. As I cradled my tiny girl, the lyrics of a comforting song echoed in my mind, reminding me of my father’s spirit. In that moment, I felt his presence and settled on the name “Ava,” the last joyful memory shared between us.
In her early years, Ava joyfully sang along whenever “Sweet Caroline” played, often exclaiming, “I came down from heaven as Papa was going up!” But as she grew, perhaps influenced by my attempt to connect with Neil Diamond—who once sent a picture in response to my letter—she began to shy away from the song.
Now, as she covers her ears in the backseat, I recognize her need to distance herself, just as I have distanced from my own grief. I watch her search for Selena Gomez on her iPod, and as the lyrics of the song play on, I think to myself: Was in the spring, and spring became a summer, who’d have believed you’d come along?
For those navigating similar journeys, it’s important to find support. Consider exploring resources like Hopkins Medicine’s Fertility Center for guidance in your pregnancy journey or check out Make A Mom’s Fertility Booster for Men for additional insights. For couples embarking on their fertility journey, Make A Mom’s Couples Fertility Journey provides valuable information to support you.
In summary, the connection between music, memories, and family is profound. As we navigate the complexities of life, it’s vital to cherish the moments while finding ways to cope with loss and celebrate new beginnings.
Keyphrase: “A child’s name and memories”
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