Today has been a shit day. I’m in a drug haze, in pain and exhausted. I can’t even put my thoughts together to write a love story. I have one noodling in my silly brain, but the words won’t come.
At work while I was sitting there staring at my gigantic monitors and getting nothing done, I decided that I needed to listen to a little Say Anything. Max Bemis’s lyrics bring me up or down. Depends on the song that comes up on my play list on Spotify. Imagine my joy when I heard the first line of the song, Alive with the Glory of Love. The lyrics are simple, but they capture my soul and make me lose my breath.
He sings, When I watch you, wanna do you, right where you’re standing. Yes, it’s sexy and sultry, but as you listen to the song you realize it is so much deeper than the act of fucking. It’s about the intense love that a young man has for a young woman during the time of concentration camps, Jewish Ghettos, and being in hiding. I can’t imagine the fear they lived with. I just can’t fathom it. But these two people, though they felt fear, they felt love so deeply for one another that it kept them alive. Even in the Treblinka Concentration Camp.
Should they catch us and dispatch us to those separate work camps, yeah
I’ll think about you, I’ll dream about you
I will not doubt you, with the passing of time
Should they kill me, your love will fill me as warm as the bullets
I’ll know my purpose, this war was worth this, I won’t let you down
No I won’t, no I won’t, no I won’t
(Alive, alive, alive with love)
I won’t let them take you, won’t let them take you, hell no no
Max wrote the song about his great grandparents. They survived Treblinka. Through sheer luck? No, I do believe that their love saved them. I am a sappy romantic girl, so I will always believe that to be the case. Just like Max does. Max is a fucking bi-polar schizophrenic, but his lyrics feed my soul. They speak of sex and want, but they soothe me. They make me believe in undying love. Even in a fucked up time in history and the need for a madman to exterminate an entire race of people. There were still love stories. There was still so much of life for these doomed people to live. How they made it through each day without losing their minds, I have no idea. I don’t think I could have.
It also reminds me of my kids. They’re both singers. Meggie is a classically trained opera singer and Adam Boy is a tenor with a falsetto that can still bring tears to my eyes. When they were teenagers, all their friends would come over on the weekends with acoustic guitars and sing their hearts out. Roger Darling and I would have to be right in the middle of it. To hear all of their voices convey the meaning of the lyrics they sang thrilled my soul and made Roger so proud.
I miss those days, night, weekends and impromptu concerts that took place in our living room. I miss every single one of those kids. They were my kids, even though I didn’t give birth to them. They were mine. Every one of them. They still are. When I see them, they still call me Momma Heath. Or Mom. In some way they complete me. In some way I still complete them.