Free Fallin’

I had a post ready to go for today about depression and suicide. Yes, I know. Really upbeat topics. Not my usual kind of post, but sometimes life has a tone you just can’t ignore.

I wrote that post over the weekend after learning that one of our local high school students jumped off the bleachers at the football game.

Then Sunday we awoke to the news that a home invasion resulted in a father being shot and killed in front of his wife and kids. It turns out that man was a teacher at one of our local middle schools.

Then Monday morning we awoke to the horror in Las Vegas.

I was already feeling emotional for all the death that was hitting close to home. I was feeling emotional for all the death on the Strip. 

I was feeling overwrought, really, and not understanding why until I realized that October 2 is the day I buried both my parents. We buried Dad in 1993 and then 17 years later, I buried Mom’s ashes next to Dad on the same day in 2010. To say my week started crappy would be an understatement. I was also conflicted about whether I should continue with the same blog post or change it up to reflect everything else.

Apparently, this wasn’t enough for the Universe because then Tom Petty died.

Then he didn’t.

Now, as of the writing of this post, I have no idea if he’s dead or alive.

I’m so confused. And emotional. And tired.

I decided to write about why Tom Petty being dead, or almost dead, or not, tugs particularly hard at my heart strings.

Music is such an emotional art form and Tom Petty’s music has been part of the soundtrack of so many things in my life. His music was often the balm I needed when I didn’t know I needed it. And believe me, if there’s anything we need right now, it’s the balm of good music and meaningful lyrics to make us feel like there’s still some hope and some good in the world.

I was a Freshman in college in late 1989 when “Free Fallin” was getting popular.  That year was a really introspective time for me. I was 700 miles away from home and I was beginning to really examine the trauma of living with a mentally ill brother who was also an addict, and the family dynamic that went with it. Something about the physical distance had made it possible for me to get some emotional distance, or at least enough to begin exploring those feelings.

It made for a very intense first year of college.

My roommate and I lived on the second floor of that first dorm. It was a cold, square, room with cinderblock walls and a tile floor. There was one tall, narrow window that let in a minimal amount of light. Even in the daytime, we would have to turn on the overhead fluorescent light or one of our dim little lamps. The window sill was a wide ledge that you could use as a shelf.

On one particularly rainy and muggy day, I was alone in the room. I sat in the semi-darkness, peering out the window. Free Fallin’ came on the radio. I don’t know what made me do it, but I decided to climb up on the window ledge and stand there.

I was and I am terrified of heights but I climbed up and stood with my forehead pressed against the glass, looking down from the second story. My breath would cloud my view every time I exhaled. Watching the raindrops against the glass, I felt dizzy and floaty all at once. The song took me out of my head for just a moment, which is exactly what I needed.

I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I’m gonna free fall out into nothin’
Gonna leave this world for awhile

And I’m free, free fallin’
Yeah I’m free, free fallin’

I can’t hear that song without remembering that lost, scared 18 year old girl again. I can’t hear that song without feeling gratitude for those three minutes that I didn’t feel anger/resentment/sadness for the previous seven years.

I can’t hear that song without feeling the hope I felt in that moment that maybe this isn’t all there is. Maybe there’s more waiting for me around the corner. Maybe I’ll someday be free of these things that are weighing me down.

The best part is, it was true.

I left that girl there and became someone else.

Of course, there have been heartaches and traumas and other events that have left scars. That’s just life.

There has been love. Imperfect love. Tested love. Enduring love.

There have been children and grandchildren.

There have been fur babies and friends.

And music. So much music. It’s what keeps me going, even now.

Even on days like this, when kids are jumping off stadium bleachers and fathers are being murdered in front of their kids and concert goers are massacred for no reason whatsoever.

Even on days when we may have lost a true poet.

The music never dies. And if we let it, it will set us free.

Wildflowers by Tom Petty