I was just casually looking for art supplies at the local craft store, minding my own business and not thinking about grief. I was not even thinking about my late husband in that moment—I was just enjoying a bit of reprieve with some carefree shopping.
As I was comparing the different hues of red paint, I noticed a song playing over the speakers. There were no words. It was only instrumental. I listened for a second but then got back to picking the right shade: vermilion or crimson? Who knew there were so many choices?
But I couldn’t ignore the melody. The song was melancholy and epic at the same time. I put the paint down and listened intently as tears rolled down my cheeks.
There were no words—it was instrumental only. And still I cried. In fact, I was a bit overwhelmed with my emotional response to this music.
The Journey Through Grief
Since I lost my husband ten months ago, music and I have had quite a journey. In the beginning of my grief, I couldn’t bear to listen to music. None of it. It was all just too sad. Why are they all love songs or songs about God? I wasn’t sure I could trust the God they sang about anymore.
Going back to church alone, without my husband by my side, was hard. Music “bookends” our service, so to avoid the worship songs in the first few months, I would arrive late and leave early. I just couldn’t sing, or even listen. After a time, I began to stay later and attempted to get through the songs. I usually sat in the back so I would have an easy exit. It was months before I didn’t escape early.
Eventually I could listen but not sing along, but yesterday at church, I was there on time and stayed until the final Amen. And I sang. The tears roll down my face and still I sang. I even raised my hand during one very meaningful chorus. I believe what I’m singing, but it still hurts. So, I sing, and I cry. That’s my worship right now. I think God understands.
Carol Ann
That day in the craft store as the music played on, I grabbed my phone and asked Siri to identify the song. Siri informed me that it was called “Carol Ann,” by Michael W. Smith. This is not a new song, in fact, the album was released in November 2000! Where have I been? I’ve never had a song, much less a song with no words, impact me so.
My first thoughts in the store, while listening over the speakers, were all about my husband. I texted my girls and said, “I’m in the middle of Hobby Lobby crying over a song I’ve never heard that has no words. So dumb. Grief is so dumb.”
I downloaded it to my playlist and played it over and over again for days. I listened to “Carol Ann” while I painted. I played the song as I drove in the car. All the time, I thought about my husband, his life, his love, and his accomplishments.
The song is beautiful. The instruments tell the story of someone’s life—you can almost see it. I lamented that I had not found this song to play at his funeral. It would have been a perfect companion to the video. But then… I almost heard God whisper, “The song is for you.” What? For me? “Yes, the song is for you…”
Seriously, I don’t know if “this song is for me” or I have just fallen in love with this song so much that I want to adopt it as my anthem. The melody is grand in places and melancholy in others. I hear the piano solo and then I hear the whole orchestra. There are refrains of triumph and yet throughout the song there are moments of sadness.
I hope and pray for epic seasons in my life. I’m still here. God must have something for me to do. I walk alone yet I have many wonderful people in my life who come along side of me, my orchestra. I also know, no matter how blessed my life, it will always be laced with melancholy and sadness. Always. I’ve joined the massive, collective crowd of people who live their life fully even as they hold their pain.
We hold the pain. We grieve. And we live.
I will continue to listen to this beautiful song. Thank you Michael W. Smith. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it, but God’s timing is perfect.
This song is for me. My anthem. Carol Ann and me.
