Thats how I feel. Blah. For the past couple of months or so, my body feels blah and tired and just drained, I guess. I’ve been having trouble getting out emotions.

Its weird, but I got really sad about the death of Fleetwood Mac’s Christine McVie. Its not like I know her personally or anything. But I have seen Fleetwood Mac three times in concert in my life. Once with Don in NYC, once with my widowed friend Jocyln in Virginia, and once with Nick here in Massachusetts/Boston. Of course, they were incredible all three times, and they have always been one of my favorite bands ever. The harmonies they are known for along with the incredible musicians, every one of them, is outstanding and creates a magic like no other. They had chemistry that was stunning, and a history together that was chaotic and loving and so complicated, and it all played out in their music, with every lyric and every guitar chord. They were “The Chain” that would never be broken.

Except now that chain has been broken because one of them is gone. That makes me so sad. I feel sad for Stevie Nicks, because her and Christine were not only band mates for decades, they were also best friends. I feel for her ex-husband, John McVie, who is obviously devastated, Im sure. They divorced years ago but remain friendly and have a lifelong bond. Again, I dont know any of these people, but A: I know loss, and B: music is the ultimate connector, and Ive always loved them, so it feels personal and sad to me.

Anyway, in my own life lately, there have been things going on that Im very sad about, and things going on that feel huge and overwhelming and that may or may not end up changing the trajectory of my future and my present – and once again these are things I cant really talk about here, publicly. (I know I say that a lot. Im sorry. Its just not always my place to write about things publicly when it affects other family members and they would be upset if I wrote about it publicly.) With all these things lately though, it feels like my emotions are set on stuck or pause or something. I just feel intensely sad, but Im having trouble crying. I just lie there or sit and stare into space a lot, mostly when Im supposed to be sleeping.

Then, a day or two after Christine’s death, I was in my work van driving in the early morning hours to pick up my students and drive them to school, and my favorite local radio show did a tribute to her, and they talked about how they thought of her as the quiet beating heart and soul of Fleetwood Mac, and how her song “Songbird” is one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs ever recorded by anyone. (agreed)

And then they played it.

And I turned it up.

Loud.

And then louder.

And then even louder.

And suddenly, those tears that wouldnt come for months now , started erupting out of me like a volcano. All those tears that were stuck in there came pouring out like a waterfall, and I just kept crying and crying as I drove that van through the back roads of small town Massachusetts. Eventually, I had to pull over in a parking lot, because the level of crying would have turned into distracted or dangerous driving, if I had continued.

So I cried, as Christine sang: “for you, there’ll be no more crying.” Crying more as she sang: “to you, I’ll give the world. To you, I’ll never be cold.” And I really started wailing as her voice melted into me with: “and the songbirds are singing, like they know the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.” 

Crying about death and life and loss and all the things we grieve over our years. Crying for me and for Stevie and for Christine’s family and for the end of an era in music with Fleetwood Mac. Crying for the beginning and end of things, and for changes in life that we see coming, and those that we don’t. Crying for the deaths of those I love, the ones who have already died and the ones that will die. Crying for the temporary and fleeting fragility that is life, and for the ways in which time goes by both excruciatingly slowly, and with pinpointed lightning speed. Crying for everyone and everything, for all of it.

And just like that, I went from Blah to blubbering mess.

Music is so damn powerful.

Thank you Christine.

For the crying, for the music, for everything.