It would come as no surprise to anyone who knew my father that he loved Van Morrison. I grew up to the rollicking sound of Gloria and Brown Eyed Girl and the soothing, poetic Tupelo Honey and Crazy Love. It was something we shared, our love of this music, the way it changed and evolved over time. For a long time, Moondance was our go-to road trip album.
He’d never seen Van the Man in person. In 2010, just a couple of years before he died, Van hit Austin at the Bass Concert Hall. My sisters and I pitched in and bought tickets for Christmas. On the way to the concert I wasn’t sure he totally understood what we were doing, but once we got to the venue he became…..well, the only word I can think of is giddy. I sat next to him during the show, and he was just so damn happy. He may not have known how or why he got there, he certainly didn’t think about anything outside of that concert. It was pure joy to witness it. He was completely engaged and present and just lost in the moment.
On the way home after the concert he talked about how great it was and how happy he was with the set list. Slowly, of course, the sense that he was really there with us again faded back to the functional vagueness I had become accustomed to.
For the next several months, though, he would tell me, with same spark of giddiness, everything about that concert. He had no recollection that I had been there, but that was fine with me. It simply made me so happy to see him so happy again, with a little bit of that engagement and interest in life back for a fleeting moment. To have the chance to experience his joy, over and over. I would have listened to him tell that story a thousand times. God, I wish I still could, even just once.
After he died, there was a long list of songs I just could not bear to listen to. The memories just hurt too much. Slowly I was able to endure them and remember wistfully how integral music was in much of the time we spent together. In time, I came to enjoy them again.
The one song I never was able to get to; the final and our favorite and the closing song of that concert was Into The Mystic. A beauty about love and longing and death and ultimately peace. I will listen to that today. Because he would love to know that I had.
He’d never seen Van the Man in person. In 2010, just a couple of years before he died, Van hit Austin at the Bass Concert Hall. My sisters and I pitched in and bought tickets for Christmas. On the way to the concert I wasn’t sure he totally understood what we were doing, but once we got to the venue he became…..well, the only word I can think of is giddy. I sat next to him during the show, and he was just so damn happy. He may not have known how or why he got there, he certainly didn’t think about anything outside of that concert. It was pure joy to witness it. He was completely engaged and present and just lost in the moment.
On the way home after the concert he talked about how great it was and how happy he was with the set list. Slowly, of course, the sense that he was really there with us again faded back to the functional vagueness I had become accustomed to.
For the next several months, though, he would tell me, with same spark of giddiness, everything about that concert. He had no recollection that I had been there, but that was fine with me. It simply made me so happy to see him so happy again, with a little bit of that engagement and interest in life back for a fleeting moment. To have the chance to experience his joy, over and over. I would have listened to him tell that story a thousand times. God, I wish I still could, even just once.
After he died, there was a long list of songs I just could not bear to listen to. The memories just hurt too much. Slowly I was able to endure them and remember wistfully how integral music was in much of the time we spent together. In time, I came to enjoy them again.
The one song I never was able to get to; the final and our favorite and the closing song of that concert was Into The Mystic. A beauty about love and longing and death and ultimately peace. I will listen to that today. Because he would love to know that I had.
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic
3 years. I love you, Dad.
