Music and memories. Bad ones
THURSDAY, February 11 – Sander and I have gone to Pat Metheny’s performance tonight in the Concertgebouw. Due to the lousy weather in England, the American guitarist is late. Sander is kept fascinated during the long wait by looking at Metheny’s huge arsenal of instruments up on the podium until, finally, the melodious racket begins.
After the first song, I sit rooted to my chair. The music evokes an entire palette of images in my head, which follow one another in quick succession, alternating, repeating, reinforcing. Again and again. Jennifer’s cremation, her body in the casket, in the hospital bed hooked up to the machines, on the stretcher in the mortuary.
It’s a horrible sensation, especially since I can’t seem to fight it – it just takes over my thoughts. The procession becomes more intense, more colorful and more intrusive when I close my eyes and try to think them away. This lasts until the fourth song. Then I fall asleep. Don’t know for how long. When I wake up, it’s all gone. I enjoy the music, which lasts until midnight. On the way home Sander and I talk and talk and talk.
Diary of a Widower 