Like myself, and my father before me, my son, Jason, has an eclectic taste when it comes to music. Despite both of us being introverts, largely keeping to ourselves on any given day, when the tunes come out, there are always some lively discussions between us.
The other day, I was caught off guard when I heard a song start to play, emanating from Jason’s room. It was a song...and album I was very familiar with, but hadn’t heard in what seemed liked decades; Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs.
Jason would go on to play the whole album, and as I listened, a tremendous sadness came over me. The music itself is great, so much so, I bought the CD, immediately after watching Arcade Fire win a Grammy for album of the year for that album in 2010.
It became a favorite of my girlfriend, Dawn, as well, as we played it constantly. The sadness comes from the fact that it’s all gone now, so that it was painful to hear it again. I would never have imagined how much so.
2010 was one of the most stable and happiest periods in my life. I was in good health, dad was still alive, though mom had passed only the previous year. I was slowly coming to the end of a career in the Canadian civil service, retiring 3 years later, and my girlfriend, Dawn and I were living together. The Suburbs also provided the inspiration for my poem, Ready To Start, in the collection, New Blood, to reflect those good times.
Looking back, I think I lived with a false, even naïve, sense of security, back then. The full impact of Death, and how short/temporary Life is, still had not fully hit me, though the passing of my mother had certainly set me on the right path. Sure, I knew what Death was, but went through life blissfully anyway, as if somehow invincible.
It would take a pandemic, 10 years later, and the death of Dawn in 2020, not from COVID-19, but recurring Cancer, to truly open my eyes as to how temporary Life really is.
Maybe why in the years that followed, I buried that album in the back of my mind, and the CD...on a shelf somewhere.
