Autumn comes as a somber distant memory.
Wake Me Up When September Ends playing on the radio in 2005, my head pressed against the passenger side car window, as I silently wonder, did Billie Joe Armstrong write this for me? How did he know? I wish I could sleep through September.
Time as remembrance; As the leaves fall, and the trees let go of the energy they used to keep them green and alive through Spring and Summer, I am reminded of loves lost and life changed. Intrinsic connections, and missing pieces in this physical realm. A common phenomenon, when anniversaries of memorable dates come to pass, and our bodies release the same emotions, even if we’re trying to forget.
A time of letting go, death before the rebirth, yet, somehow, I find myself saying Autumn is my favourite time of year.
The colours of the changing leaves. The crunch of fallen leaves under my feet. The sweet smell of the Earth. The cool air and cozy cardigans. The draw to turn inward, and the anticipation and preparation for winter evenings with hot tea and a book to warm my soul.
I’ve mentioned before how I believe there is a profundity of having lost a Mother as a child. The naivete of understanding what Death is. Innocence still intact. The hope that the loss is all a dream, an imagination, or that she will one day return from some epic secret adventure that required her absolute disappearance until the big bad has been defeated. Most of all, though, the belief in the spiritual. The knowing: she’s still there.
I don’t know that any of us are really taught how to grieve. It’s a hard, subjective lesson, and there are too many negative emotions that come along with it for some people to want to face. People become fearful to say their name, or bring them up, so as to avoid the emotions that could arise.
But saying their name keeps their spirit alive and well and close. It helps to hold the memories and compartmentalize the grief into every aspect of love. Without this simple ritual, memories fade sooner than they ought to.
Having held tight onto the title imposed on me to be the “strong one”, it took years for me to finally let go, and let the feelings flood in.
To accept them, to breathe through them, be with them, and to allow them to unfold and transform.
ABBA
A since-averted health uncertainty that rhymed too closely with my Mom’s story led me to a beautiful discovery. My Mom’s favourite band, and all those days driving around in her maroon sedan listening to them held new meaning and purpose.
Accept.
Be With.
Breathe.
Allow.
I listen to ABBA Gold when I’m remembering my Mom. I sing it loud, I dance, sometimes I cry. (Chiquitita gets me every time!) The upbeat disco can help lift me out of sadness.
Sometimes, though, I crave the sadness.
Sadness that deserves to be processed in its own way. A journey through the darkness before making the journey back to the light.
Music helps me move through these emotions, accompanying me to the depths, and staying with me through the dissonance. The sad music becomes a way of remembering that we are not alone. It’s a humbling way to grieve. Listening to sad music and just letting emotions flow in whatever way they choose to express can be extremely cathartic.
Here are a few albums I enjoy, which I believe encapsulate the stages and processing of grief, and the connection to spirit that never goes away.
Wave, by Patrick Watson
“It's a record inspired by a long spell of melancholia after the loss of Watson's mother, changes in his band and the dissolution of a long-term relationship.” (CBC Q)
Patrick Watson (one of my all-time favourite songwriters) has a way of allowing the flood of emotions to emerge, yet, holds the hope of returning to the light. The only way out is going through the depths, allowing all of the emotions to wash over us. Life keeps living.Carrie and Lowell, by Sufjan Stevens
“Not long after Sufjan Stevens lost his mother, Carrie, to cancer in 2012, he started writing music about her and the profound sorrow he was feeling. He didn't have an exact "why" in mind, or a sense of what he'd do with the songs he was accumulating. But writing had always been a source of comfort for Stevens, and he figured it might help him find clarity and purge his grief.” (NPR)
Sufjan Stevens processes the experience of losing his Mother in many ways before her eventual death from this realm, and the gratitude he holds for his Step-Father who was a beacon of protection for him. Through the thick of it, we often don’t know what we will do with our grief, just as Stevens wasn’t sure what he’d do with his music. Yet, he allowed himself to sit with his grief and transform his emotions into something beautiful.A Crow Looked at Me, by Mount Eerie
“This body of work wasn’t meant for entertainment, it was meant to convey a message. A feeling, that death is real, not the romanticized plot-twist element that we see coming in almost every hero’s journey novel.” (Mediminds)
Raw and real, Mount Eerie processes the death of his wife and the Mother of his child. He revisits places which hold memories, and is honest about the way that what we want to remember, what we so tightly grasp onto, slowly fades. He doesn’t hide how hard it is to grieve true love, and how real it all becomes when someone so close to us is gone.
Let yourself go there, in a way that feels safe to you. Feel what needs to be felt.
My teenage self still feels a hint of resentment toward the month of September when I hear that Green Day song. I smile now, understanding how it helped me through those hard, lonely years.
I am humbled to remember and come back to this lesson of ABBA, not only in grief, but in times of uncertainty.
Thank you for the music.
References:
https://patrickwatsontours.com/
https://www.npr.org/2025/05/27/1253209950/sufjan-stevens-interview-carrie-and-lowell
https://www.pwelverumandsun.com/collections/by-mount-eerie
https://mediminds.org/the-crohns-column/f/mount-eerie-a-crow-looked-at-me-album-analys
