Those who wish to sing will always find a song.
Celtic Proverb
Growing up, singing was as much a part of my life as breathing. My mother loved singing, and sang to us children often. The song that still sticks in my mind was one called The Chocolate Ice Cream Cone, which told the story of a child sent to the store to buy a chocolate ice cream cone. The ice cream cone meets a tragic end and the song's last lines go, "And now I'm lost can't find my home/And all because of that chocolate ice cream cone." My mother sang that song so much, that she thought she'd written it, when it was really the legendary country singer Rose Maddox who did. But I didn't care; I loved that sad, sweet song.
In junior high, I went to a school with equal numbers of white and African-American children. We sang in the locker-room and the halls and, summers, my girlfriends and I sang along with Motown songs, as we walked the neighborhood sidewalks carrying tiny transistor radios. At school, I was in choir, a lively affair conducted by an African-American woman. After Grade 8, my family moved away to a mostly white neighborhood with no choir and, sadly, my "formal" singing days were over.
After high school, in the dark days I've written about in an earlier post - Bereft - I bought a guitar and began singing again. Only to myself. This singing helped to sooth the intense grief that I'd buried so deep that I didn't even let myself think about it. Years passed and I had a son who I sang to until he decided singing wasn't "cool" anymore. Then, for a long time, I let singing drop out of my life. In the summer of 2010, after an intense reunion with my ex-boyfriend - the father of my daughter - I picked up singing again like an old friend. I sought out workshops and that's how I found myself during a week in August sweating in a small church in East Vancouver with about 40 other singers of all ages and levels of experience at a workshop in a cappella singing with two members of the No Shit Shirleys, Karla Mundy and Dawn Pemberton. When it came time for my favorite song - Moses Smote the Water - I would take off my shoes and stand up and sing with all my heart. "Sister ain't you glad?" we'd belt out and I could feel the wood floor warm under my feet as I danced and sweat run down my back. For a little while, my sorrow moved further away. (Take a minute to enjoy the video below showing part of The Shirleys concert at the 2010 Vancouver Jazz Festival. (Karla, 2nd from left; Dawn, 4th from left))
After the workshop, I got into one of the choirs Karla directs. This is my second season with the choir and the singing we do together feeds my soul. When I'm singing, there isn't any room in my mind for worry or in my heart for grief. In 2010, I also started working with a new therapist and when she heard about my singing she said, "Great, you're really getting your voice back." She meant that literally and figuratively. I agree becauseI have been silenced by people who didn't want to hear my story or see my grief.
Other people with PTSD, including Vietnam Vets, are also discovering the healing power of music.
Has music or singing helped you with grief or processing trauma? What's your story?
