smile though your heart is breaking {November 2, 2009}

I knew my father was going to die before he did. I was 24 years old and employed as a cancer information specialist for the American Cancer Society. I remember sitting in my chair at work, skimming an article on metastatic breast cancer (indeed, men get breast cancer too) and realizing with grim certainty that my father wasn't going to make it. Our final conversation took place on February 14, 2007. I phoned him and cheerfully announced that he was my valentine. He was quiet—he wasn't himself. Five days later, I booked a flight to Virginia. My father wasn't speaking anymore. He stopped eating. The cancer was in his spine, lungs, and brain. Once home, I found him unconscious on an aluminum hospital bed in our den. My father's long, 6'6 frame was soft and frail—his dough-colored skin was dull in the light.

He was going to die three hours later.

The final moments of my father's life were awful. I held his hand as my sister sobbed in the stairwell. As my father gasped and labored for air, his eyes were open—blank and watery. His body rattled in exhaustion. As the space between his breaths grew expansive and long, I asked my mother, "Is he dead?" It's so strange to watch someone die and not do anything. We were told to let him go. We let it happen. I kissed him on the cheek and gripped his hand in bewilderment. How am I supposed to do this? 

After several minutes, he stopped shaking and became silent. My mother picked up the phone and called our hospice worker. I looked at my phone and thought of Ben. My father was dead. Gone. Solemn workers from the funeral home knocked and took his body away. I went to bed. I stared at the ceiling, and I didn't cry.

I thought of Ben.

As mentioned last week, I saw The Antlers perform Hospice on Friday. I've written about this album a few times, and it's my favorite release of the year. Peter Silberman's music is soft and unassuming in spots, yet as a conceptual work, Hospice is bold & impassioned—Peter seethes in long drones and spaces. Hospice is a cathartic blow-up and by-god it's gorgeous. I'll admit it, I was angry too. I was angry for losing the most influential, beloved men of my life within a six month period. I'm less angry now, but I can remember what it felt like to be so emotive, so raw .... In 2007, I thought my heart might stop beating at any moment. Hospice is a dirt-cold nightmare put to song. As for The Antlers' performance on Friday, I remain transfixed. Their set was beautifully executed and entirely moving. I held it together through most of the show, but the final song, "Epilogue," reduced me to a river of wet, dollopy tears. Thank you for being there, Roger. I don't think you realized it, but you held me up against the sonic crush. I love you, my friend.




When I try to move my arms sometimes
they weigh too much to lift.
I think you buried me awake,
my one and only parting gift.
But you return to me at night,
just when I think I may have fallen asleep,
your face is up against mine,
and I'm too terrified to speak.
You're screaming,
and cursing,
and angry,
and hurting me,
and then smiling,
and crying,
apologizing.  

Epilogue - The Antlers    |  website

ps. I didn't say hello to Peter this time. Next time, friends. Next time I will be ready!

(image via the square america snapshot archive)

Comments

[Allison]

Quite a powerful post Liz, you've left me teary. Especially since I'm still in my raw anger stage of grief after this summer. Thanks for posting this track, very beautiful.

[meg]

it's like this album was made just for you. and me. and all of us. thank you for sharing dear liz.

[Jen]

I could say much more than a sentence, but it feels like I'd be trying to talk underwater with what I'd like to say.
Liz, I hardly e-know you but you are an extraordinary lady. Extra, extraordinary.
This album is all that you profess and more, I have you to thank for placing it in my path.
Thank you for sharing.

[matt pearce]

Powerful post, Liz Frith, powerful. Thank you, from a member of that club.

[Roger]

Love you too, Liz. And I will hold you up again and again.

[Andrew]

There's something disquietingly voyeuristic about reading a stranger's raw and uncensored emotion. It's courageous to share.

[colin]

i dont admit to crying often, but this blog touched me... this is so profound and heart wrenching. someone above me said it best, you are courageous to share and i applaud you... all the best. the antlers are amazing as well.

[Z]

:'(

[me]

Hi everyone! First off, this post sort of happened by surprise. I've been preoccupied with The Antlers for several months now and it took me awhile to realize why I effing love that album more than anything I'd heard in a long while.

I am very touched by the comments above and the emails that I've received from so many readers. You are all beautiful, and thank you.

This blog is a major contributor to the Liz Food Pyramid of Happiness and writing about my moods and past pains - all while connecting them to music - is important. I think people should spend more time writing, thinking, dreaming, and scribing out their thoughts. Let's engage, let's share.

Let's think about why.

With that said, I'm still very humbled that people read this on a regular basis. So thanks!

xoxoxoxo. - L

[Allen]

It is, indeed, an amazing album and this was a powerful post. Thanks for sharing, Liz.