Live Out the String

A word of warning, this is shaping up in my head to be a real "journaling" post more than a concert review, so you were warned if it gets all mushy and gooey.

I went to the Keswick last night to see Marc Cohn in concert again. Rob and I have seen him a couple of times before, but I took my mom with me last night. She really enjoyed the show as did I, but Mr. Cohn's new album is affecting me in a way that music rarely does.

I love quality music as well as the next girl, but every so often a song comes along that really touches something inside you. I don't think it's ever happened to me in quite the way it has with Marc Cohn's new single "Live Out the String."

I'm a devoted fan, so I knew all about his totally unfortunate run-in with a carjacker in downtown Denver on August 7, 2005. He was shot in the head, but managed to walk away unscathed with the exception of what he describes as a pretty bad case of PTSD. While home recovering, he watched the events in New Orleans unfold and was inspired to write his new album.

Back to the song... Live Out the String talks very directly about what it feels like to have a second chance when you've faced death. I don't talk about the emotional effects of my near-death experience in 2002 very easily. I'm quick to say how happy I was to have survived and can articulate how our struggles with subsequent pregnancy losses affected us and led us to what's become an amazing way to build a family. But, the (not to sound too melodramatic) psychological scars that I didn't become aware of for a while after the "incident" are still there. I've been told to write out the experience, both good and bad. For some reason, I've never been able to make myself do it.

In a weird way, I feel like if I were a better writer and had one lick of musical ability, I would have said just exactly what Marc Cohn says in his song. I read interviews with him where he talks about the stages you go through after such an experience. I was stuck, like he was, in the euphoria of having lived for quite some time. After that starts to wane, though, you wonder if you're supposed to be doing something specific with the life you've been left to live.

I know I'm doing a lot of what I'm "supposed" to be doing. I trust that God wasn't finished with me yet. I still struggle, however, with wondering if I'm doing enough. It's a bit freaky to know that you should have died, to have been told you pretty much did, but then be released with nothing but a pelvic scar and the notion that life has changed forever. Granted, when I was released from the hospital, I wasn't in the life-has-changed-forever stage. I was in the what-the-heck-is-with-people stage. I could NOT figure out why everyone was treating me like I was so fragile. I'd nearly died and didn't. I'm not fragile. I'm strong and darn happy to know my time isn't up yet.

I could probably ramble on about this forever. I suppose that's why people tell me to write it. Maybe I'm getting closer to being able to do it, but I'll most likely do it the old-fashioned way and dig out a pen and paper so that I can tuck the memories away to be read only if and when I need to.

I think the final thing the song made me realize is how grateful I am to have been surrounded by people who let me take things as they came and understood that I'd deal in my own way. It feels weird to tear up about all of the memories based on the song of some guy who has no idea who the heck I am, but I suppose that's what good music does.