Initially, my intention was to write a heartfelt tribute to the ukulele—an appreciation for that delightful, affordable instrument that seems to bring joy wherever it goes. Anyone can pick one up and strum a few chords, making it a constant source of happiness in my life. My daughter often brings it on road trips, strumming along to the tunes of her favorite artists, while my partner occasionally plucks it to create silly songs about the mess in our living room. During gatherings, it’s not uncommon for someone to strum along to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s beloved rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” filling me with warmth. The takeaway I wanted to share was simple: get yourself a ukulele. You absolutely should.
But then, my oldest friend—my companion for 43 years—passed away, and I found myself needing to express something deeper. In a world without religion, music has become my sanctuary.
After her passing, following the eulogy I delivered and my return home from New York, friends came to support us. I call them “The Crew.” They arrived with food and warmth, ready to comfort us in our time of sorrow. We enjoyed just the right amount of wine and far too much of a peculiar honey liqueur that had an odd scent, and amidst laughter and tears, I shared stories of my friend’s last days with a bit of a sniffle. We even squeezed in a game of Boggle.
Then, as often happens, my daughter found her way to the piano, and others picked up instruments, leading us all to sing. Our group is a mix of incredible talent and those of us who can only contribute our voices, but the goal is simple: to create melody and harmony together.
We sang Joni Mitchell’s “River,” The Beatles’ “Let It Be,” and Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird,” alongside Leonard Cohen’s poignant “Hallelujah.” We had some lyrics printed out, while the teenagers eagerly searched for others on their phones, just as they do. It was pure bliss.
We often gather to sing, usually for joy rather than solace, sometimes even organizing hootenannies in advance. At these gatherings, musicians bring their instruments—guitars, banjos, drums, and yes, ukuleles—creating a cacophony of sound as we revisit old favorites. Some of my recommendations include:
- “I’ll Fly Away” by Alison Krauss
- “Kick Drum Heart” by the Avett Brothers
- “When My Time Comes” by Dawes
- “Pecan Pie” by Wilco
- “Kids” by MGMT
- “Goddamn Lonely Love” by Drive-By Truckers
- “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
- “Shady Grove” (traditional)
- “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
- “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” (Guns N’ Roses version)
Not a fan of this selection? Feel free to diverge from our eclectic mix of 40-somethings’ alt-country-folk-bluegrass vibe!
Sometimes, in the weeks leading up to our get-togethers, we circulate a single song for musicians to learn their parts, while those like me—lacking notable talent—simply enjoy the music. Whether it be The Beatles’ “I Will” or Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” magic happens. Occasionally, a teenager may play the trumpet or cello, and it’s always just what I need. I promise you’ll find it fulfilling too, so please—gather your friends and their kids, print out some lyrics, and make music together. If anyone plays an instrument—even a tambourine or a middle-school oboe—great! If not, don’t worry. Just lift your voices and sing.
During my friend’s final days in hospice, I witnessed death not as a serene lily but as a monstrous octopus that she fought valiantly. Amidst this struggle, a wonderful music therapist visited, guitar in hand. She played soothing songs like The Beatles’ “Across the Universe” and Iron and Wine’s “Such Great Heights,” bringing calm to my friend’s spirit. Days later, at the service, a cantor sang “You Must Believe in Spring,” and it resonated so profoundly that it felt as though hope was tangible.
It’s true that music lacks some of the comforts associated with organized religion, such as promises of heaven or an afterlife. It doesn’t offer a clear plan for life. Yet, it encapsulates the essence of existence through song. It fosters connection and celebration. As Leonard Cohen so beautifully articulated: “And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.” Hallelujah.
In summary, the journey of grief can be softened through the shared experience of music. Gathering with loved ones to sing not only honors our connections but also brings a sense of healing. So, embrace the power of song—it’s the remedy we all need.
Keyphrase: Healing through music
Tags: home insemination kit, home insemination syringe, self insemination