When I woke up on Monday morning, I had a group text from my mother informing us that our cousin Cristina died in a car crash.
The little boy was home sick that day and the day after so I really didn’t have the opportunity that I wanted to call my aunt to talk to her so I called her this morning while my parents were on the way from Florida for the funeral.
I can’t imagine how difficult it is to lose a daughter but she said it’s even harder for the sons she left behind and that the first day was a shock and that reality started to hit after she made the funeral arrangements.
I have often wondered why do we have such a high discomfort level when it comes to acknowledging the death of a loved one? It’s even in our language, we don’t say someone died, we say he or she passed and I don’t know if doctors use the word expired anymore, or maybe that was just in the movies.
But then, I felt bad that I felt uncomfortable myself about it at the very time that someone just needed me to listen, not "do anything" just be there, even if it was on the other end of a phone call.
Even though my cousin and I weren’t close, not because of anything personal, just distance, I still feel a very profound sense of sadness and loss.
So I do what I know how to do best, I went to my music and even though I am currently working on this desert Nocturnes project, writing 40 pieces of music for each of the 40 days of Lent, and last night’s performance is a part of that series, I wrote the music for my cousin and I hope that, if the family hears it, or those who I tagged anyway, that it will bring a bit of comfort for them at this most difficult time.
So here’s the music that I played last night if you’d like to hear it. It’s around a half hour so thanks for listening if you’re inclined to do so and thanks, as always for reading and following my blog.