On Monday, May 20th while staying with my brother for the one night that he was awake and able to speak, he didn’t ask a million questions. In fact his throat was so raw from being intubated that he didn’t want to talk much at all. Instead, John asked to listen to music and I didn’t blame him.
My family never left his side, which meant that he had been talked to for hours upon hours on end with no relief. I mean with no break. Definitely meant break, Mom, so I welcomed the interruption as I needed a little pause from talking myself.
He asked for a band that I wasn’t familiar with and I quickly looked through iTunes Music to download any of their albums. Tame Impala. That’s who he asked for. The internet was slower than molasses in that concrete building so we listened to one song three times on repeat before I realized that nothing else was loading.
Halfway through the “Let it Happen” marathon - yes that was the name of the only song that loaded and played - a nurse walked in. She was there to clean his mouth with what was essentially a small sponge at the end of a sucker stick. It hurt him when they had to scrub his mouth as hard as they did so I was glad the music was playing to fill the would-be quiet void to hopefully keep him distracted enough to get it over with.
She looked up at me as she entered, and upon hearing the techno music coming from my phone she smiled. Then she did what will forever be my most cherished action by any nurse that fateful week.
She danced.
This woman danced across the floor and for a moment I forgot how serious everything was. I forgot the reason my brother was in that hospital bed or that he couldn’t move anything from the waste down. I forgot… and I danced too.
My brother, who was heavily medicated due to his injuries, lifted his hands and joined in.
For that one minute time stood still and there was joy instead of pain. It came just as quickly as it went.
This was the last dance we would ever share.
As the days rolled into one another and I would take my shifts to sit with my brother I made sure to always play a song or two to break up the talking. I was like his own personal DJ as he was in and out of consciousness. I even snuck in the song “Reckless Love” a time or two since he couldn’t protest. Music was our thing. In fact, Jesus and music were the only things holding me together when I was with him.
When the doctors told us it would be his last day, for the second time, we knew it was final. This wouldn’t be like the time before when we rushed in and waited up all night holding on to what little hope we had. No, this time it was the last time we would be able to hold his hands, kiss his arms, and be near him.
We gathered around his bed and said our goodbyes. I put my phone by his head and played his favorite band for the last time. And then after a half hour or so, another nurse came in to say that he was gone.
It took me a minute to process what had happened before someone asked me to turn the music off. I picked up my phone from beside my brother's head and then before I could tuck it back away, I felt the Lord tell me to play one last song. I asked my family if it was ok, and everyone nodded in agreement.
I turned on a song that I have listened to on and off the past few years when tragedy would strike. I listened to it the first time when my mentor, Pastor Lori Antekeier, passed away. I turned it on, placed my phone near my brother’s feet, and closed my eyes in prayer letting the words remind my weary soul of the only truth I could hold on to in that moment.
“Let my last breath here
Be my first with You
Where You rob my fear
And You make me new
So whatever comes
Whatever I go through
Let my last breath here
Be my first with You”
My own tears joined those of my family, but the peace in that room was tangible.
The words of the song were words that had never held so much meaning for me than in that one moment.
We listened to the whole thing as a family, and smiled as best we could through tears. It was a beautiful reminder of the answered prayer that we had gotten, the miracle of my brother’s salvation, just two days shy of his death.
They thanked me for playing it. And then we gathered our things, kissed his hands one more time, and walked out of the room.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of those last moments or our one perfectly timed last dance.
For weeks after my brother’s death I would feel John’s hand in mine when I would lift my hands to worship in church. I would sob each time as I knew he was worshipping where he was too. It had been decades since we did that together.
Music has always been my go-to for responding to trauma. It is the tool that God most often uses to comfort me and to heal me. This season I am in is no different.
So in an effort to share a part of myself that I usually keep for just God and myself in dark rooms alone on my bed with headphones over my ears, here are the songs that are getting me through. Fair warning: they are basically a mix of everything. Just like my emotional state these days, really. But I hope you find the one that you need to get you through too. Because despite the roller coaster that is loss, this one truth remains: God is still good and near.
Death gives life purpose.
Theirs and yours. Don’t let death take the life out of your future. Keep on living. Keep on trusting.
Keep on dancing.
XOXO Sissy
My Grief Playlist
“Tears of Joy” by Phil Whickham
“Reckless Love” by Cory Asbury
“Let it Happen” by Tame Impala
“Life is Beautiful” by Rend Collective
“Even If” by Mercy Me
“I Can Only Imagine” by Mass Anthem
“When in Doubt” by Thousand Foot Crutch
“Rescue” by Lauren Daigle
“Miss You” by Joy Electric
“It is Well” by Bethel Music
“Near to Me” by I am They
“Oh What Love” by The City Harmonic
“I’ll Fly Away” by the Nashville Cast (feat. Jessie Early)
“Out of Hiding” by Steffany Gretzinger
“I Don’t Have the Answers” by We Are Messengers
Psalm 42:1-5 “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’ These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng. Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God”