Yesterday, into today, and probably tomorrow, has brought and will bring a wave of emotion that hit me harder than I expected. Especially since news like this can come at you when you’re least expecting… Because we are never expecting…
Bob Weir, the co-founder of the Grateful Dead and one of the architects of a sound that has threaded through so many lives and other musician’s styles, passed away yesterday.
For as long as I can remember, music has been a constant companion, the only companion through every part of every “thing”, a kind of emotional atlas through life’s highs and lows. And the Grateful Dead? Well, their music wasn’t just background noise. It was a milestone maker time and time again, it soundtracked road trips, first loves, heartbreaks, and quiet mornings with coffee. It was there when I felt unstoppable, defeated, or just plain lost. And to this day, it still is.
When someone like Bob Weir departs, or any other artist, even though we generally never know them personally, it still hurts. At times, more than we think it’s should. And in the past 24 hours, I have thoughts as to why that is. Because, if you can’t tell, I’ve been struggling on why this one is such a gut punch.
Music Isn’t Just Sound, It’s Memory, A Moment, A Place
When a song plays, we don’t just hear notes. We often remember so many pieces of our lives.
The first time we heard it
Where we were
Who we were with (or without)
What we felt
That’s the thing about music, it anchors us. It lives in the same emotional space as our memories. So losing an artist we grew up with often feels like losing a corner of our own past. Or am I totally off track on this one?
This may sound crazy, but outside of my mom and sister, no one has been there as long as the Grateful Dead has been. Not in a literal sense, but in a meaningful one. I know there are still people I went to school with out there etc. But I haven’t heard from most of them in years. So like… Well…. Yea, they just haven’t…
And with that, our playlists become a timeline of us. And for me, Bob Weir’s voice was part of that timeline. From my first show in early high school, to sleeping on the sidewalk of a rest area while my sister was sleeping in the car because after a weekend of shows in VT and being up for 48 hours straight, sleep was the only option. Or maybe traveling back and forth across the country meeting strangers who became good friends… Because the music never stopped.
So We Sit And Grieve What Helped Shape Us
That’s what I'm slowly putting together, why we feel this pain, and it’s not just because of the artist’s talent, but because
They soundtracked our lives highs and lows, goods and bags
They gave voice to emotions we couldn’t yet name
They reflected back parts of ourselves we were discovering
They connected us to moments we couldn’t forget
When Bob left this world, a light dimmed. For hundreds of thousands, probably millions, around the world. But unlike ordinary loss, his music remains alive, ready to wake that emotional archive whenever we choose to revisit it. But right now, it rises the tides in the soul that make my eyes leak. So for now, the volume remains low.
So Here’s to You Mr. Bob Weir
Wherever your soul has wandered next, thank you and god speed….
Thank you for the sound, the spirit, the shared moments, the community, the music that never stopped.
And to all of us who feel that ache, let it remind us of why we listen, why we love, why we hold memories close.
… You know our love will not fade away….
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