So what are the odds that one particular song would pop up on my iPhone?

Um… pretty high, my boyfriend would point out, since I don’t really have that much music on iPhone. There’s about 100-or-so albums on my iPhone, mostly musicals, which puts the odds of any particular song popping up when I’ve got it on shuffle at maybe 1/1000. Anyhow: in spring of 2008, in the months after my mom’s death, I listened to the original Broadway cast recording of Avenue Q over and over again. Listened to it long into the summer. Because I’m OCD like that—all musical theater queens are OCD like that—and because it helped. Every time the finale came on—”For Now”— I kinda lost of my shit. It made me cry my eyes out over and over again, and… you know… that helped. It did. So I’m walking down the street and my iPhone is on shuffle and…

For now there’s life.
For now there’s love.
For now there’s work.
For now there’s happiness.

But only for now.

For now discomfort.
For now there’s friendship.

Only for now.

[snip]

Each time you smile, it’ll only last a while.
Life may be scary, but it’s only temporary.

Everything in life is only for…

Now.

What do you know: that song still makes me lose my shit. Today was supposed to be my mom’s 69th birthday. Taking the rest of the day off. You can listen to “For Now” here. It helps.

57 replies on ““Life May Be Scary, But It’s Only Temporary””

  4. Dan, I was just listening to an archived This American Life with a sweet, funny story featuring your mom (the one where you’re reading from the Commitment, but while we’re on the subject of losing your shit, your piece about her last days absolutely killed me). And now here she is smiling at me from SLOG, of all places. Please know that she’s still bringing smiles — and tears — to people who didn’t even know her.

  6. Dan, I was just listening to an archived This American Life with a sweet, funny story featuring your mom (the one where you’re reading from the Commitment, but while we’re on the subject of losing your shit, your piece about her last days absolutely killed me). And now here she is smiling at me from SLOG, of all places. Please know that she’s still bringing smiles — and tears — to people who didn’t even know her.

  9. that whole album is great, and always puts life into perspective for me. condolences to you, dan; your mom was lucky to have such a loving son.

  11. Dan, I want you to know that the moment I saw her picture that you posted, I sent you a mental hug… since I know how much you dislike actual hugs from strangers, know that people care about how you’re doing.

  13. I second @11. The loss of your mom came not too long after my own mother died, and I felt very, very bad for you yet glad that you shared, and that you still are. Johnny Cash’s On The Evening Train was the song that did me in (and still does–I just listened to confirm . . . )

  14. Avenue Q has gotten me and my husband through some tough shit. Not loss, but the problems of being young and poor and disillusioned. We’ve listened to that album over and over.

    I’m sorry for the absence in your life, Dan. Your mom was clearly an extraordinary woman and she raised you right.

  15. From my own personal experience, 35 years from now that song will still make you cry. Certain smells, foods and songs still do it for me since my Mom died in 1974.

    Your Mom would be really happy you miss her and everyone is Slogging about her today.

    Take good care.

  18. Saw her picture today and thought “I wanna be like her when I’m old.”. What a smile! She was lucky to have such a wonderful son. Sympathy to you…

  22. Dan, I’m sorry for your loss. I could tell from your books what a very special lady your mom was, and I’m sure losing her daily presence has been a tremendous hardship.

  23. Our birth is but a sleep,
    and a forgetting.
    The soul that rises with us
    – our life’s star –
    hath had elsewhere its setting,
    and cometh from afar.
    Not in entire forgetfulness,
    and not in utter nakedness,
    but trailing clouds of glory do we come,
    from God,
    who is our home.

  24. @13 … I listened to Johnny Cash’s American III for months after my dad died, when I was 20. There are some heartbreaking songs on that album, but for some reason, for me, there’s nothing better for wallowing in grief than some late Johnny Cash. That was five years ago, and I still can’t listen to that album without it all crashing back. That song will probably get to you for the rest of your life, Dan, but it’s okay. It’s good to remember how being that low felt. Keeps everything else in perspective.

  25. I listened to “For Now” on repeat following a rough breakup. Not at all a comparable situation, though. Our thoughts are with you, and with her.

  26. The picture of your mom is beautiful and puts all the buzzing noise of news and daily worries in perspective for a bit.. A quiet moment with your mom’s smile. My best wishes…

  27. Mr Savage, I just want to join all the others who have expressed their feelings of condolence for your loss. I know you resist the idea but please consider a visit to a house of worship, meeting with the people who attend it can ease somewhat your feelings right now. In any case, for what is worth from the responses here you seem to have many people (most of whom don’t know you personally) who love you sincerely. We always have at least one angel in our lives to protect and guide us in this turbulent current world that we live in, I think you’re more than lucky in that department 😉 In God’s Love.

  28. My deepest condolences to you, Dan. The “first” milestones after a loved one passes are always so hard.

    Most of the songs that get me are the ones my mom used to sing to me, but the other one is “Open Up The Gates” by Hamell on Trial. Kills me every time!

    And I’m with #6-your writing about her last days broke my heart.

  30. Aw, Dan, sending you a big mental hug. I know you don’t do real hugs with strangers but hope you don’t mind the mental ones. You have helped so many of us, please remember that you are very much loved.

  31. I lost my mom just about year ago. I can’t even put into words how devestating it was. And it was only two years after my dad died, and I hadn’t even had time to get past that yet. You never get over it but it does get better with time. The grief will fade and be replaced with fond memories and that makes it so much easier. Hang in there! I know how you feel. ((big hug))

  32. What 11 said. I remember how hard it was when my dad died 13 years ago- it was hard for years afterward, but I can say that now when I think of him, I smile and remember how sweet and wonderful he was and I’m not sad anymore. It won’t always feel so raw and achingly empty (( )).

  35. My mom died suddenly of a stroke 2 years ago when I had just turned 18, and I listened obsessively to “the Pilgrims” by the Shins afterwards. I remember months later walking on the courtyard of a university in the Middle east and my Ipod hitting that song while on shuffle – I completely lost it and had to find the bathroom and curl up and weep on the floor. I still cry when I hear that song.

    I don’t believe in God or anything, but I hope both of our mothers are at peace with whatever it is that makes us human.

  36. My dad died two weeks ago, suddenly at home, and I remembered your comments about your mom and it helped me with the overwhelming details of death. My album is Songs by Rich Mullins, but yours is going on the iphone.

  37. So sorry about losing your mom, Dan. I’m always spooked when certain songs come on at the exact right moments…

    Thanks for all your great work and loud speechifying–I think you help get good things done, which seems like the kind of thing moms are proud of.

  38. Sending love to you, your mom and your family.

    I forgot my password, it’s been so long since I’ve posted. But, this is Papayas.

  39. This is definitely one of those “wrong place, wrong time” comments, but on the bright side at least she was pleasant, you liked her, and she lived for a long time. More than I can say about mine.

  41. Your mother had to have been enormously proud of you. Reading what you wrote about her must have brought her such joy.

    Peace and Love, Dan.

  42. So sorry for your loss, Dan. Anniversaries of deaths can reopen all those old wounds. (My grandmother passed far too young as well — only 65. After five years, every anniversary still hurts my poor mom. It’s okay to grieve for as long as you need to.) Know that the story of your relationship with your mom continues to inspire gay people and their parents, friends, & siblings. Know that she lives on not only in your heart but in the example she set for parents everywhere. Your readers love you.

  44. Dan, thinking about you and this significant loss. I hope your day off is filled with plenty of happy memories of your mom and laughter as well.

  46. All my best wishes to you. Grief never goes away, but it’s something we learn to live with.

    I wish I could have met your mother, she sounds wonderful.

  48. I am so sorry for your loss and if i could only send you a ray of Greek sun to warm you in this difficult moment , i certainly would, and Dan take solace that she is still living in your heart and in your mind.

  49. In the same “what are the odds” vein – I listed to old “This American Life” episodes while I do housework today. Randomly, I listened to one today called “Leave The Mask On” where you have a segment that is features you talking with your mom.

  50. Hugs to you Dan. My mom would have been 69 this year too. She is always with me tough. It never gets easier, but you find a place for it.

    My mom still loves me, she always did and she always will. You can never take that away. Not possible.

  52. I, too, have a song that does that to me, every time. Annie Lennox – Into The West.

    My favorite lyric of the song, and the one that always gets to me:

    Don’t say, we have come now to the end
    White shores are calling, you and I will meet again.

    Peace and love to you Dan.

  54. I sometimes remember when my dad died like it was yesterday. That’s the thing about grief – the good thing, maybe. It is as strong a reminder as we’ll ever get that we’re all in this together, and no one’s pain or suffering is any more important than anyone else’s. Dan’s loss is our loss, because we’re *all* gonna go through it, or have already, and will again. Vale of tears and all that. But the ubiquity of death never lessens its particular impact. We’re all drama queens about grief, Dan – never feel bad about that. Here’s to your mom.

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