Thursday, December 10, 2009


It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
is just the way that we are tied in
But there's no one home
I grieve...... for you
You leave....... me
So hard to move on
Still loving what's gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on

The news that truly shocks
is the empty, empty page
While the final rattle rocks
it's empty, empty cage
and I can't handle this
I grieve....... for you
You leave....... me
Let it out and move on
Missing what's gone
They say life carries on
They say life carries on and on and on

Life carries on in the people I meet
In everyone that's out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Just the car that we ride in
The home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
As life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on

Did I dream this belief
or did I believe this dream?
Now I will find relief
I grieve

Peter Gabriel–“I Grieve”

There comes a point where one can think about the loved one and not break down crying. The wound is not as raw anymore. One can talk about the person and share memories without completely losing it. Food starts to taste again. Not taste good, just taste. One becomes a bit more focused in the here and now, instead of wallowing in the regrets of the past, as well as the happy times that will never be again. Colors seem a little more bright. One starts to take some pleasure in the simple joys of life again.

Much like any other injury, there are scars. They aren’t well healed. Something on televison might trigger a memory of a conversation that was once had. A family picture cuts to the heart of one’s memory, triggering a flood of mental images that crash down like tidal waves. Smells are the worst for me, having a somewhat sensitive nose. A smell can trigger memories like almost nothing else can. And when they do, the scabs are ripped right off the wound, and the pain is as fresh as the day it was inflicted.

It’s a little less agonizing, though. It recedes a bit more quickly; each time fading more quickly than the last.

The emptiness is still there, though one doesn’t seem to think about it nearly as much as what one did before. One can somewhat imagine that a an amputee feels something similar; a phantom pain from something should be there, but isn’t.

Time heals all wounds, I suppose. It's slow, though, moving at the Lord's pace, and not our own. Somebody told me recently that God is seldom on time, but he's never late....

Monday, December 07, 2009


More fun with lyrics. I started to look closely at the band Iron Maiden when I saw a show on the Military Channel that chronicled the top ten fighter planes of all time. Somewhere on the list was the British Spitfire. They had some guy on there who was singing the praises of the thing. He talked very knowledgably about its rate of climb, its manueverability, its speed, durability, armament, etc. At the end of the segment, it showed the guy's name: Bruce Dickinson. Odd, I thought. There's a metal singer named that. I never listened to the band, but knew from reading guitar stuff a little about the band. Not my cup of tea at the time, but somethig that got filed away amongst all the other useless trivia that occupies my brain.

It turned out that it was indeed the same Bruce Dickinson, leather-lunged singer for Iron Maiden. He's a pilot, and he owns a Spitfire. How cool is that? I give you the lyrics to ACES HIGH, a snapshot in metal of the Battle of Britain:

There goes the siren that warns of the air raid
Then comes the sound of the guns sending flak
Out for the scramble we've got to get airborne
Got to get up for the coming attack.

Jump in the cockpit and start up the engines
Remove all the wheelblocks there's no time to waste
Gathering speed as we head down the runway
Gotta get airborne before it's too late.

Running, scrambling, flying
Rolling, turning, diving, going in again
Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die
Run, live to fly, fly to live. Aces high.

Move in to fire at the mainstream of bombers
Let off a sharp burst and then turn away
Roll over, spin round and come in behind them
Move to their blindsides and firing again.

Bandits at 8 O'clock move in behind us
Ten ME-109's out of the sun
Ascending and turning our Spitfires to face them
Heading straight for them I press down my guns

Rolling, turning, diving
Rolling, turning, diving, going in again
Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die
Run, live to fly, fly to live, Aces high.