"I broke free on a Saturday morning, pushed the petal to the floor. Headed north on Mills Avenue and listened to the engines roar...I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me..."
During the dark wait for Abe in the winter of 2008, I used to listen to this song over and over as I rode my bike around my neighborhood and on the paths of a cemetery that I would often end up at. It was a regular date with me, an ipod shuffle attached to my baseball cap, asphalt paths in a big cemetery, and this song.
One of my most interesting friends, a woman raised Southern Baptist but converted to Judaism in college and an excellent vegan baker, was the one to first introduce me to this song. She said it helped her through a tough break-up.
I just found this afternoon a playlist on our computer from the first few months we were home with Abe. This song is on there. I made it through that year. There was feasting and dancing. With a child at home, I didn't have as much time to ride my bike around the cemetery as much.
I listen to this song and think about a friend of mine who has been waiting longer than anyone I know to bring their six-year-old daughter home. They have met her and held her and even developed inside jokes among their family already. A judge said 'yes'. But embassy snafus are keeping them apart. This wait is excruciating for them.
I went ahead in the playlist and this song is the one that made tears well up more than anything has in a long time. I think about my friend who is waiting for her daughter, whose son is waiting for his sister. I think about this long winter in Oregon, how the sun still seems so far away.
It's gonna be alright. One day. If it kills me.
Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right