Sideswiped by Music at 70mph

A friend introduced me to the band Mumford & Sons earlier this week. Last night I downloaded the album knowing that I’d be out and about in the Mustang with the windows rolled down as I ran errands today. I burned the CD as I got ready this morning and then set about my errand running. After singing along with one song three times in a row (amazing harmonies!), the song Timshel came on.

First it talked about death which, as you might know, is a hard concept for me right now as we have lost two family members this winter. I didn’t skip the song though. Again, amazing harmonies tickled my ears and I kept listening as the wind rushed through the open window.

Then the second verse smacked me in the face. I’m lucky I didn’t wreck the vehicle.

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

I kid you not. I can’t make these things up.

I had to restart the song, breathe my way through the death part and give it another listen. I cried a bit. As I do. I’m a crier. The chorus that follows is equally moving, especially considering what was just sung.

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

Oh, so many meanings tied up in that chorus following that verse. Not alone in what? In any choice? If I had chosen to parent, would my hand still have been held? As a birth mother now, still making my way through this journey, will someone still hold my hand? I felt hopeful and despondent all in one thought process.

I know, of course, that I am not alone. I also know that I am her mother, her first mother, who gave her life. But sometimes, still, it gets lonely. Even with support at every turn here on the Internet and in my real life. But the dark days are dark. The lonely days are lonely. The hard days are hard. I assume they are for all of us, no matter our choices, our journeys. Being reminded that I’m not totally alone, despite choices and the like, is nice. But to be caught off guard like that by a song was… wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

The song ends with this gem.

And I will tell the night
Whisper, “Lose your sight”
But I can’t move the mountains for you

An important point, I think.

I do believe that’s why I have such a difficult time with certain blogs, especially those of newer birth mothers. I want to make it easy for them, to help them transition into a life journey that they never could have imagined for themselves. I want to walk with them through that egg-shell-like first year. I want to hold their hand when their defenses come crashing down. I want to help them rebuild their lives as they make their way through the rubble. But I can’t, really. I can only offer a kind word, a shoulder and my own story. Our stories will never be exactly alike. They will live their own journey. They will climb and move their own mountains. I’ve climbed so many of my own, tunneled my way through the darkest of days. I can only pray that they make it through or over to the other side where the calming streams of peace await. It’s hard to watch.

And yet I know, as I do most days, that they are also surrounded by those who do care. That’s why I’m here. I’m here for me, for my healing. But I do care, even when I don’t have the words. We’re never alone.

By the way? Totally awesome band. They’re coming to Columbus in May. Going. End of story.

Edited to add: Have a listen. Have a tissue near.