I. vacant margins of life - score preview
II. doing all the things - score preview
III. social masks & false reflections - score preview
IV. meeting the horizon - score preview
Duration: 15'
This piece is another in what has turned into a series of compositions dealing with the loss of my beloved wife, Maria, to breast cancer on August 16, 2019. Each of the movements in this composition attempts to portray an emotional state that I have worked through during my journey of grief.
The title of the first movement, vacant margins of life, is taken from the book Time and Despondency: Regaining the Present in Faith and Life by Nicole Roccas. The author writes, “Most often…the present appears to consist of nothing—nothing particularly immediate to accomplish, nothing that entices our attention, nothing that seems meaningful or significant…The ability to…acknowledge the pain of disorienting pointlessness and endeavor to find fullness in the vacant margins of life—is as important as how we respond to an abundance of monumental tasks.” The movement is a portrait of my exhaustion contending with depression, grief, and loneliness yet pushing myself forward nevertheless even when the simplest of tasks seem overwhelming and pointless. The movement also seeks to describe the absolute quietness that has descended upon my life. My house was once full of vibrant activity and happiness not that long ago. With my wife gone and my kids grown and moved far away, my house has now become a museum filled with artifacts from a former life; the vacant margins filled to the brim with silence. A comment posted in an online widow/widower group to which I belong perfectly reflects my feelings about this new normal: “How could I have gone from perfectly happy to this?”
The second movement, doing all the things, is a portrait of all the self-help activities with which I busy myself (prayer, therapy, journaling, physical exercise, mindful eating, meditation, etc.). I especially find composing works like this piece to be very therapeutic. The music of this movement has an energetic feel reflective of engagement in self-help activities. None of these activities, of course, are magic pills that make everything suddenly better. Nevertheless, I imagine that I would be in far worse shape if I did not regularly pursue them.
The third movement, social masks & false reflections is a dual portrait of myself at home and out of the house. Outside, I wear a mask of congeniality; smiling and responding with “I’m doing fine” when asked “how are you?” by people during the day. (Can you imagine my responding truthfully to that question?) Of course, I am not fine, and it is a constant struggle to maintain a smile. At home when I’m alone and gaze upon my face in the mirror, I do not see a mask, but I also do not recognize myself anymore. Although I may look the same, it is a false reflection. I am not the same person and my eyes – blankly staring back at me – are a daily affirmation that I will never be the person I was before my loss.
Yet at some point, a person either succumbs to overwhelming grief or finds a way to live with it. The fourth movement of the work, meeting the horizon, is a portrait my emerging acceptance of my new normal. Instead of an unwelcome and overbearing intruder, my relationship with grief is now slowly beginning to change. Grief is now an accepted companion. Grief, as stated by a character on a recent TV series I watched, is simply “love persevering.” It will never really go away, and I will never “get over” or “move on” from my devastating loss. In the beginning, grief sat on top of me, suffocating me with its immense weight. Grief is now simply a companion sitting by my side, allowing me to move forward, and integrating itself into the new person I am becoming.