Written before 2019 I suspect and then revisited and corrected in late December, 2020.

On Repeat. I listen to music often. My close friends and family would say I often listen to a single song on continuous repeat, for hours. I used to argue that this is not typical for me, but the frequency matters little. Evidently I’m unusual in this. I can own this. In an effort to expose my feelings and my inner thoughts to my family (most importantly) and friends, I thought I’d share what I’m listening to, “on repeat” and what I’m day dreaming about while the notes and words are settling into my soul.

The song I came across today, I hadn’t noticed before. If I’d heard it, I had not paid it any attention. I don’t know anything about the artist, author, or the scope of their other music. The title “On The Frame” appears obliquely in the song’s lyrics. The stories teller, presumably a parent, recounts inscribing the listener’s name on “the door”, a door frame they imagine the child might someday return to, adding names of their children. It is basically a song about generations and the brevity of life. Here are the lyrics (right justified) and my thoughts (left justified) and a link to the song at the bottom of the post.

Can you hear me Father John
Have you lost what you believe?
What’s the matter? What’s the meaning when nothings as it seems?
Sit down at the table now there’s reason there’s reprieve
(You would never know it)
Even those who are yet to go are sharers in your grief

The singer addresses his father first. At first listen, he appears a priest, but I think not necessarily. His father, John, hard of hearing, losing mastery of his senses is finding “nothing is as it seems”. His beliefs on meaning, on what matters seem illusive now. I knew an old man named Mike who looked a bit like Santa Claus. He always would greet me loudly across the street or parking lot, saying, “Hello Pastor! What do you know?” From the first time he did that until the last time I saw him, (and without any hesitation) I responded with the same phrase which I assume I inherited from my father. “Less and less, Mike. Less and less.” Friends I’ve had nearing the end of their lives have almost universally expressed versions of this feeling. Certainty and clarity become more and more elusive and as the body and mind betray us. There is a real grief surrounding these losses. In the song, the father is invited to sit and encouraged that a reprieve from the confusion and struggle would come and that he was not alone in his aging experience. Those who are “yet to go” are not so far behind.

Cuz in a little while
When all will be over
Gonna say goodbye
Go and get your closure
In 100 years
When you’re just a haze on the water
And then when it clears
It’s another’s turn to discover
But you know
You’ll have to let go
Like you

As the singer contemplates his father’s passing with him, as the teacher of Ecclesiastes investigates, he imagines the time beyond anyone’s memory of him. The inevitable closure will come to generations far into the future, and they too will have to learn to let go, which is what John is having to do now. His time. Each and every person will have their time to let go. John’s time is prescient for Caleb, his grandson.

Can you hear me Caleb on
The morning when you came
It was me who wrote onto the wooden door your name
It’ll last there longer than this body can stay
(Cuz we all will be lonely)
If you ever return again
Write another’s on the frame

In my hearing of the song, Caleb is the story-teller’s son. I imagine the door frame marking refers to the same practice we have of marking our boy’s heights on a door frame. Their names with dates mark out growth and time until they reach full height. He imagines perhaps his son will one day “return again” and with the home becoming his own, marking the frame with his own son or daughter’s name, growth, and life. And then the chorus sings to the son the same story he shared with his father.

Cuz in a little while
When all will be over
Gonna say goodbye
Go and get your closure
In 100 years
When you’re just a haze on the water
And then when it clears
It’s another’s turn to discover
But you know
You’ll have to let go
Like you

As I review the song in my mind I imagine an old man’s hand release as his last breathe escapes. The arm falls to the side of the bed and an object escapes to the ground, rolling dramatically across the floor. I realize this is cinematic, not realistic, but you dared to enter my daydream. I struggled to think about what would John be holding on to? What thing would symbolize something that he wanted with him, that he clung to, even in his aged, wretched, naked final hours? When I finally saw what he had in his hand, I cried a bit. I was walking home and conveniently, it was raining, not that anyone would notice anyways. I think I’ll share what I saw with my wife and boys. I hope that this discovery is a deeper part of who I am that I can share with them.

** Afternote: Ok, I’m still listening. It’s been about 4 and a half hours. (That’s not even close to very long for me if you are wondering.) One last thought. The song clearly is written by a young father as he’s referencing first marking the door frame and the implications are his son is young. The other evidence of this just struck me. The only direct reference to his own mortality is the single line, “It’ll last there longer than this body can stay” and other than that mortality almost skips a generation. He’s reflecting on it philosophically like a man in his 30s, not practically like a man in his late 40s or 50s.