From REM to "Honey"

Sunday morning. I started the day feeling better than usual and after the usual morning routine was in the mood to strum my guitar and warble a few songs. The kids were sleeping in as they do on most weekend mornings. Any noisy activity had to be carried out behind closed doors in the confines of my own bedroom. Needless to say I am now the sole occupant of this room, since my wife’s untimely demise more than 10 weeks ago, so no worries of disturbing anyone as long as the doors stayed shut.

Over the last two weeks, over a few quiet evenings when I had time on my own, I have learnt to play a few new songs. These days with musical chords, lyrics and Youtube guitar tutorials so readily available on the Internet, learning any new song is so much easier than in the past.

I have also recently took a liking to music by REM, an American alternative rock band formed in the '80s.  But playing REM’s numbers would by my very average standards be considered adventurous, so having made some progress on a few of their songs felt hugely satisfying.  One of my favourite, “Oh my heart”, has a sorrowful chorus that resonated closely with how I felt each time I thought of my late wife. Another two that I played, “Man on the Moon” and “Uberlin” are more upbeat in melody but all the same, lyrically enigmatic, as with many REM songs.

Finishing the practice session, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that Jenny is no more around to listen to me. In the past, especially after I have learnt to play a new song I would often and sometimes to her annoyance, solicit feedback on my performance. “So, Honey how did I play, on a scale of 1-to-10?”, I would cheekily ask, even as I knew that her response is likely to be muted. She knew well enough not to reply, mindful that I was merely teasing for her attention and for some assurance that she was indeed listening.  If she did it would be a flustered “Ai-ya, don’t bother me-lah” or “sing but don’t ask me-lah”. I deserved to be chided for being a nuisance.

So reliving these snippets of our time together as the morning wore on and in the solitude of my bed room, my relaxed and uplifted mood slowly deflated to doleful. Black clouds were slowly but ominously gathering above my head. I was not sure how it started but gradually found myself humming out mournfully in my mind an old Bobby Goldsboro song entitled, “Honey”.  It was years since I last heard this song so I did a quick search using my iPad on the Youtube. Listening to the song again brought back a tidal wave of feelings.  That of longing and loss.

           “See the tree how big it’s grown but friend it hasn’t been too long, it wasn't big...”

“Honey” was a hugely popular ballad in the late 60s, and one of the first few “oldies but goodies” I heard on the rediffusion when I was a kid and helped jump-start my  lifelong love for music.  The lyrics also centre on a man reminiscing about his late wife who had died of illness and he regretted teasing her and her attempts to plant a tree when she was alive, finding her “always young at heart, kinda dumb and kinda smart” and now that she is gone he  “wake up nights and call her name”.

I realised how much  I had missed calling Jenny in the same affectionate way also. She was my “Honey” for as long as I remembered. It was a term of endearment that came very naturally for me and it had stuck on over our years together. 

It mattered not that in her final weeks in the hospital, emaciated from her long battle with cancer, with her cheeks sunken and her scalp, saved for a few remaining strands, was pitifully bare, I had found her as attractive as on the first day we met.  She was still very much my “honey”. The nurses tending to her might have felt awkward overhearing my outward expressions of affection for her, but I did not care.

So by noon time, I found myself in that same old familiar feeling. My eyes were wet with tears.

Despite this Sunday morning downturn of emotions, I must admit that over most of the past week I had held up pretty well. Work had kept me quite busy. But just as my musical mood had switched channels quite abruptly, from REM to Bobby Goldsboro, so did my state of mind swing from high to low. I have known that my emotional state would be very much determined by the ebb and flow of grief as memories of Jenny still occupies centre-stage in my life.  Many things will pop up unknowingly to trigger a recall of our time together. It could be an old song as what had happened today, places we have visited or an old keepsake and so on. I will need to deal with them as they come.