More than Music

More than Music

Last night Chance did a show with his band Dad Legs about half an hour from where we live. I wanted to go, but I’m sort of still on NYC time and fading earlier than my usual midnight bedtime. Plus, Charli had an early soccer game today, so no sleeping in.

Chance said the show started at 8 pm, which in “band”speak means 9 or 10 pm. Sure enough, he texted me from the club that it might be 8:30…then “no later than 9:30.” I left the house at 7:50, confident that they would go on by around 10.

I felt kind of like a big deal when I told the person at the door I was Chance’s mother and got in free because I was on his guest list. Once inside The Wayfarer, I surveyed the young crowd. It occurred to me that I must look like quite the cougar, and I wished I had worn a t-shirt that said, “My son’s in the band.”

After a few minutes, Chance and two other band members saw me and came to give me a hug. Now I was a cougar with definite targets. Again, the t-shirt would have been handy.

I love that Chance has never shied away from giving his mother a hug in public, even during the cool teen years.

Somehow the stars aligned and they actually went on at 8:30. I don’t know if I could have grinned any wider watching these young men do what they love to do. They are fantastic musicians and songwriters, but more importantly, they are very cool, very fine human beings.

I’ve watched Chance grow from a young kid teaching himself to play a bass guitar that was bigger than him into an accomplished musician, songwriter, and producer. Music has been his therapy, his catharsis, his prayer through a lot of hard places.

From downstairs or down the hall, through the years we’ve heard melodies and phrases coming to life as Chance’s heart weaved its way into song after song after song. As he sat in his room the week before Chandler’s memorial on January 13, I could hear unfolding a song of love, of anguish, of heartache, of all the emotions converging. The song no brother ever wants to write and no mother ever wants to hear being written.

Chance, my son, I love you so much. Thank you for using your gift to bring beautiful music into the world. I hate that you have to live without your brother. I’m grateful that you have your music. It is good for your soul. And for ours. Thank you for pouring your pain and your passion into Head First. If things go like I imagine, I’m sure Chandler is bragging to all who will listen about the song his brother wrote for him.

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Run for Chandler

Run for Chandler

Expectation

Expectation