Mourning, Music, and Writing

What will contemplation reveal when a mission statement is not part of the equation?

Mourning, Music, and Writing

On June 7, 2025, my mother, step brother and I were by my step father’s side as he crossed over to his next adventure.

I drafted this article about my feelings five days ago, but sat on it. The sentiment is off brand from Herizon Music’s mission statement, so hesitation abounded. This morning, I read the

Kathy Valentine

Substack post titled “Fragments and Voices” about her thoughts on writing, life changes, and personal loss. Upon further reflection, I found the courage to hit the publish button.

** Thank you to my mother for blessing this article and helping me find my words while she still grieves. Love you, mom. **

David and me co-hosting a wildly successful Tree Trimming Party in Austin, Texas (2000). His “made to order” holiday crepes were a hit!

Mourning

The signs of emotional trauma and mourning appear in subtle forms. This intimate familial death experience was so profound and heartbreaking that I am overwhelmed and find myself frequently at a loss for words or where I am physically located. Finding myself in rooms without remembering how I got there or why. Getting lost on my way to familiar places, like the local coffee shop. My iPhone’s Notes app checklist suddenly a necessary daily tool for handling the dozens of tasks associated with this turn of events. Memory alone cannot be trusted.

We were not prepared for David’s passing as he had recovered from surgery and had friends and family calling and visiting him at a physical therapy facility for his birthday the day before his death. The 84-year-old outperformed PT expectations (throwing 20 bean bags consecutively into a pan 12’ away), and he planned to come home just two days later. David was always a high achiever: Captain and U.S. Naval Academy graduate, automotive executive, 4-Star LEED home builder, four-degreed engineer, home chef, multi-linguist, and afterlife donor… the list is long. He never stopped learning and creating. His latest hobby? Designing and constructing a model train system for which he invented tools that cut the foundation material and tracks for perfectly efficient assembly and flow.

Sign Up For The National Donate Life Registry and your State Donor Registry

David happily lent a hand with family and friend’s projects and “fix it” requests with no expectations of public praise or reciprocity. I cannot begin to count the number of projects he worked on with his grandchildren over the years, with immense impact on their character development and own achievements.

The drawback of living with such a vibrant man for 40+ years is that you cultivate a false sense of permanence, invincibility. At least that’s what I did. Perhaps that is why the shock feels so extreme. The timing hit especially hard as my son’s high school graduation ceremony and party was June 8th, the day after his passing. In keeping with David and my mother’s wishes that attention stayed focus on my son, we did not share David’s passing with our kids and then guests until graduation day’s end. Expressing joy for my son while holding back the pain for two days drained me. David and my son were thick as thieves throughout his childhood. How does a mom tell her son that is best friend died? ((deep sigh))

Find grief hotlines, resources, and counseling at AfterAll.com

Music - Time Passages

For days, music could not comfort me. Nothing sounded… worthy. Frantic channel flipping and manic search/play/stop/repeat streaming patterns ensued in my quest for some kind of release.

Thankfully, the Universe stepped in with a spark. Al Stewart’s “Time Passages” came on Sirius XM’s ‘70s On 7 channel when I was running errands. That one song opened up the emotional and memory flood gates and a spiritual connection materialized. I had to pull the car over.

In 1990 (or maybe ‘91?), David and my mom arranged for us to meet in NYC to attend Cats on Broadway. My mom had to work, so David and I were on our own for a night. We strolled through streets searching for a non-touristy destination. When it started raining, we ducked into a small club with music wafting up from its sub-sidewalk neon-lit entrance.

I was 20 years old, but David ordered me a cocktail without a second glance from our waiter. I felt worldly sipping it in the smoke-filled dark room and was thrilled that the stage in front of us was set up for an acoustic act.

An unassuming man walked on stage, sat down, said a few words and started strumming. Wait, I recognized that name. I knew that tune. I knew that voice. I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears. Al Stewart was performing on stage not 15 feet away! It was like a private show just for David and me. Not only did I adore Stewart’s instrumental and lyrical prowess, so did David. We were floored by this amazing stroke of luck. This was a once-in-a-lifetime musical miracle. Sharing such a bond in our relationship imprinted on me so deeply that the following night’s Cats show pales in comparison to that magical memory shared just between us.

It was special. It was ours. And it went completely undocumented until today. I was scared as hell that writing about it would make it less meaningful. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

The music floodgates opened after that. Driving back and forth to my parents’ house, funeral home, airports, grocery stores, etc., Sirius XM channels landed squarely on

• 70’s on 7, channel 7

• The Bridge, channel 27

• Willie’s Roadhouse, channel 61 (David loved Austin and radio country classics)

• Symphony Hall, channel 78 (Tchaikovsky was David’s favorite composer and he dreamed of seeing The Bolshoi Ballet perform Swan Lake in Moscow)

At home, I listened to Joan Armatrading and Bob Dylan and Al Stewart. With a broken heart, brain fog, insomnia, and supporting my mom the best way I can, music now offers brief respites. The music therapy continues to evolve and will for a long time to come.

Follow board certified music therapist Raymond Leone for inspirational musical healing stories.

Writing

Forgive me for abandoning Herizon Music since May 29th without emailing an explanation. I drafted a PRIDE article and was awaiting image permissions to publish when everything went upside down. That article is coming out shortly:

“Three Things Joan Jett Taught Me.”

I rescheduled podcast interviews and episode launches/production, too. Reading, commenting, and sharing other Substack writers’ posts has kept me engaged without busting my sanity budget. These writers are kindred spirits.

With exception of this article and Jett’s feature this week, Herizon Music will not be deadline driven over the summer. At first I felt guilty, now I feel necessity. After insecure fits and starts (some online comments had to be deleted or edited post-haste), there is a somber resolve in slowing down and acting mindful and intentional about what I put out into the world. It’s not about rapid fire output; it’s about having something worthwhile to share together in the precious time we all have on this planet. David taught me to focus, do the job, and do it to the best of my ability. In honoring him, this is how I strive to move forward.

Herizon Music may evolve as clarity comes to light. While celebrating women in music is my passion, we shall see what contemplation reveals when a “mission statement” is not part of the equation. The product manager in me is freaking out about this unorthodox approach, but it’s a healthy experiment.

As a side note, I’m keeping the discounted anniversary subscription rates indefinitely ($12/annually and $1 monthly). They are only available on this page, which bypasses Substack’s pricing minimums.

If a free subscription with an option to donate a few bucks on the fly is up your alley, here is a new “Buy Me A Coffee” link. It’s like a virtual tip jar for indie creators. Donations go toward Herizon Music’s podcast and newsletter production. Your time and engagement are by far the greatest gifts.

Thank you for joining our band of dreamers, rule breakers, and rockstars.

Peace be with you always.

❤️🧡💛 Together We Rise ❤️🧡💛

Thea 🎶