Tag Archives: Gethsemane prayer

Grief Is a Funny Thing

by Gregory J. Abdalah

I recently took my wife to see Les Misérables. From the first time I heard it, it became one of my favorite musicals. I did not really understand all of the themes and topics at first, often turning to my mom for explanation as we were listening in the car. When asked to choose something to sing in an eighth-grade music class, I naturally chose my favorite song: “Stars.” My mother cried, of course. “Stars” became my go-to piece for anytime I needed something to sing—this range included anything from high school musical auditions to a “Broadway Night” Performance in Stara Zagora, Bulgaria, to my parents “requesting” me to sing for their friends during dinner in the Pope room at Buca di Beppo. Each time she heard me sing it, my mother cried, of course. It became a running joke. I’d sing a few bars in the car and then stop and ask, “You crying, ma?” Nothing seemed a more fitting encore when choosing the program for my college senior recital, the final for a degree in vocal performance. And for those who are wondering…yes, my mom cried. So, much to my surprise, when I took my wife to see Les Misérables, I got emotional during “Stars.” Then memories of the joy shared through music flooding in: listening together in the car, singing in the choir, seeing concerts and musicals and plays together. The next thing I knew, the cast started singing the reprise of “Do you hear the people sing?” and I could not stop crying. I even had to stay in my seat during the standing ovation to compose myself! It hit me like a ton of bricks: Grief is a funny thing. It has the ability to creep up on you when you least expect it.

While I was sharing this experience with a friend, they asked “Does it feel fresh?” I stumbled to find an answer and could not. The best I could come up with was: “It’s like a scab that sometimes gets picked off.” The reality is that it has been ten years since my mom passed away. I feel like I should be past the point of crying at random, but every so often that scab gets picked off. What does it really mean to be “past” it, anyway? Continue Reading…