I used to sing. A lot. I performed as a folk singer during high school, as well as in musicals, and I continued singing in college and after my kids were born. I sang my joy, my anger, my frustration, my hopes.
I sang to my cats and to my dogs.
Until I didn’t.
i didn’t really realize that it had happened until my niece mentioned that she heard my sisters humming or singing a lot, but not me. Which seemed backwards to all of us. Heck, I had sung at one sister’s wedding.
I tried blaming it on it on all the screaming I do at basketball games, but that wasn’t it.
When Sophia died in 2009 I lost my voice. Never before or since has a loss affected me so deeply. While I learned to function well enough, even found joy, the songs had been stilled. Every now and then I might sing along with the radio for a minute or two, and it is a given that family members get their annual renditions of ‘Happy Birthday.’ But something in me remained broken, but so deep in me that I didn’t know how to fix it.
Something has happened the past week or so and I have felt the music bubbling back through my soul. Maybe the impending birth of my granddaughter, maybe the approach of another Spring, perhaps even surviving my first six months of retirement.
Whatever it is, I am thankful. There are lots of songs I want to sing, even if it does alarm the dogs. And the songs are there, just waiting their turns, everything from Fire and Rain to Big Yellow Taxi to Will You Still Love Me to Laura Nyro and Dylan and Donovan and the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Show tunes, rock and roll, folk music and lullabies. With joy.
Today I sang. Tomorrow I will sing. With Sophia forever cradled in my heart, shining through in every note.