I wasn’t aware that my heart had stopped letting in the music.

That my grief was so profound, I was blind to the absence of music in my life.

Before ending my long marriage, I found joy in the lyrics and music that resonated with such sweetness deep into my being. I’d pass through a shop or cafe and sing along to a song playing through an overhead sound system. Or I’d have my favourite playlist on Spotify cranked up in my car as I drove out the driveway.

Back in the day, I’d grab my husband’s hand and pull him onto the dancefloor to playfully dance ‘dirty’ that would have us laughing out loud and our kids embarrassed to watch us!

I grew up with music. My mother sang, and the pianola in the lounge room was the heart of our large family gatherings. Mum’s pianist, Bonny, would play that piano all night as folks gathered around to listen to mum dedicate ‘I’m Just A Prisoner Of Love’ to dad, who stood across the room, beaming with love for her.

Because I had an ear for music, mum would drag me every week to her church choir.

I met my husband on a dancefloor in Western Australia in the early 80s. Music continued to be central to just about every aspect of our lives over the decades we were married.

Each time our three children were on kitchen duty, we’d drop a cassette into the player and groove along together. We’d almost split our sides laughing as we watched our kids, across the years while they remained at home, try to out-dance each other with their latest pump and grind R&B dance routines.

Our son took our love of music — and the drum set we set up in the lounge room — and grew into an accomplished musician.

These memories with our children dancing and singing with complete abandon were some of the most blessed moments of my life!

Because music was my happy place where all the most precious memories resided, it makes sense, looking back, why, in my abject sorrow in the betrayal of love in my marriage, I would close myself off to music.

Music is, for me, a heart-soul connection. So when grief cracked opened my heart, my connection to music felt severed. The frequency that allowed me to tap into the healing power of music was beyond my reach.

Every time I tried to play a song or attempted to sing out loud to the lyrics, I’d find emotion would overwhelm me, and heavy energy would sit in my throat. My heart would ache, and I just had to turn the music off.

I recently shared with a dear friend how music died when my marriage ended. She was somewhat surprised to realize, upon reflection, that she, too, could not turn on the radio or play her favorite soundtrack during and years after nursing her husband through the palliative years of prostate cancer.

Realizing how much I missed the thread of music running through my life, I decided to do something about it.

I chose to get in the vicinity of happy people who might infect me with their uplifting energy!

I joined a local No Lights, No Lycra dance program. This free-form dance event held in the dark was just what I needed to ‘dance’ in the direction of some powerful healing. Dancing in the anonymity of that dark room amongst strangers every week, I allowed myself to let go of unexpressed sadness, sometimes quietly weep, and accept my life as a now single woman as it unfolded.

In time I joined local Meetup social and hiking groups, where I made new friends. And these friends helped me laugh again.

My weekly flow yoga classes infused with exquisite background music became my healing ritual.

I consciously embraced a more playful, joyous mindset that called music back into my life.

About eighteen months ago, a group of us gals attended a 70–80s night at a local event. I danced all night! I lost myself in tunes that took me back to a time when I thought better of the world and myself.

Music was back in my life.

And so was love!

A guy I’d met on a dating site invited me to a musical theatre concert, ‘Wish Upon A Song’. It was a comical first date because he had no idea the show was for children. Kids in costume and a youth choir singing epic all-time hit songs from over a dozen Disney films sealed it for us! Twelve months on, we’re still together.

I spent my teens listening to John Denver. Now in my sixties, this new ‘me’ loves to turn up the volume to ‘Sweet Surrender’ when I’m out on the road and sing to an audience of one:

“There’s nothin’ behind me and nothin’ that ties me
To somethin’ that might have been true yesterday
Tomorrow is open and right now it seems to be more
Than enough to just be here today. “

Yes, I tell myself, just let today be enough.

If this information was helpful to you, perhaps you’d consider buying me a cup of coffee.

Love, light & laughter