The Song in My Head

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Pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’ berries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries.
It is his kindergarten play. He is, hilariously, the lead—Old MacDonald. He is, diligently, the one picking (pickin’) berries—strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries. He is, bashfully, facing the gymnasium filled with parents. He is, heroically, recalling his lines and playing the part. He is, decidedly, never going to be in a play, much less a musical, again.

And that’s all there is to it.

Pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’ berries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries.
It is his 16th birthday. He is, begrudgingly, indulging us with home videos. He is, traditionally, trying to fast-forward through Old MacDonald. He is, secretly, loving it. He is, of course, singing along. We are, decidedly, doing this more often.

And that’s all there is to it.

Pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’ berries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries.
It is yesterday. The song is, strangely, stuck in my head. He is, of course, not singing along. I, surprisingly, remember every word.

That’s not all there is to it.

Pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’ berries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries.
It is today. I, accidentally, sing the words out loud. I, quickly, cover them up. I, traditionally, am not quick enough. I, awkwardly, must explain about this song.

There’s a lot to it, it turns out.

But, for the first time, I do not feel guilty about not telling it all.

“It’s a song that reminds me of my brother,” I say, unable to hold back my grin.

I am supposed to be sad. I am sad. But today, I choose to pick the berries, and they are more sweet than bitter.

Pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’, pickin’ berries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries.
It is tomorrow. I, of course, do not know how I will feel.

But there’s more to love than that, isn’t there?

 

One thought on “The Song in My Head

  1. I loved your post! I agree that at some point our memories morph from painful ache to sweet remembrances! We have so many wonderful memories; just wish we had more! Love you to pieces, Cathi

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