Tag: memory

I love to walk. I walk for miles convening with nature, lost in the moments, the memories, and the music. I find peace in the silence. I find solace in the solitude. Sometimes. Other times I feel lonely because Gregger is not there to walk beside me. I drown out the loneliness in the music. What should I listen to? R & B love songs of yesterday, Broadway shows we loved, or pop hits that put a bounce in my step? Whatever I choose the words will evoke endless emotions, some happy, some sad; tears flow nonetheless. There is something about the music. It just gets me in the gut. But one particular song opens the flood gates every time. Because I know Gregger is sending me a message, a hug from heaven, just when I need it most. I feel him, I see him, I know he is with  me.

The story goes back to the beaches of Maui, right after Gregger passed. Ashley, Tyler and I were discussing a difficult decision regarding the wedding of their dear friends, Erin and Michael. I insisted that they both move forward with their plans to be in the wedding (as Gregger would have wanted). Michael and Erin wanted them to choose a special song to be played in honor of Gregger, a beautiful gesture of love. We immediately chose “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” the  Israel Kamakawiwo’ole version.  As we walked down to the beach we heard music playing. There was no sound system, no boom box, nothing in sight. All we could hear were the sounds of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” We stopped dead in our tracks. We looked to the heavens. We cried. Where was this coming from? How did he know? This was only the first time.

Two days later we were unsettingly leaving the island. While we anticipated problems at the airport, they were made aware of our situation in advance and treated us with kindness and respect. Ryan and Tyler went ahead to the gate, while Ashley and I hung back to grab our much-needed Starbucks. Originally we were not all going to be able to sit together on this long, treacherous ride home. By the time Ashley and I reached the gate the situation had been resolved. As we were standing in line, Ashley tapped me and pointed upward. She said, “Do you hear it?” He was there with us…again. It was playing. “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.” He was telling us goodbye.

We were only home a day before we had to make the difficult trip to The Clotherie. Standing outside we all broke down in tears. Walking into that store without the Gregger just didn’t seem fair or right. We didn’t think we could do it. We walked in together, made it to Gregger’s office and collapsed in his chair. The room felt empty and dark. The store was still, melancholy. The downcast faces and somber moods were not the boost we needed. Before leaving we stood behind the cash counter trying to visualize Gregger in his glory. And there he was. It was playing, again. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The same version. The one we had chosen. Our rainbow song. Our Gregger song. He was telling us he was okay. He was there with us. We smiled. We cried. And then we knew we were okay to leave. What a moment.

Several months later I was in negotiations to sell The Clotherie. Needless to say this was a difficult and emotional decision. This was not just about selling a business, but selling part of The Gregger. It was selling our life. It was selling the life we had built together for over 35 years. It was letting go of everything Gregger believed in, his life’s passion. But it was what I had to do. I was not The Gregger. I was not The Clotherie. It was Christmas time so Adam and I met at a Starbucks to discuss the negotiations. Christmas music was streaming overhead – “Jingle Bells,” “White Christmas,” “Silent Night,” “Sleigh Ride.” The tiresome sounds after two months were numbing at this point. In the midst of our stressful conversation the melodies changed gears. This could not be happening. I looked at Adam and tears were streaming down my face. He peered back at me and asked if I was okay. “Yes. You may not understand, but your dad is telling me that what we are doing is okay. This is his song. It is Christmas. They are only playing Christmas music. But in the midst of all of this, suddenly his song is playing. It is his sign.” At that moment I think even Adam believed. “Somewhere over the rainbow,” Gregger was telling me we were doing the right thing. We were making the right decision. And then the Christmas music played on.

Some days I pray to hear my “rainbow” song. But it doesn’t work that way. I have to wait. It will come. I want to feel his presence. I want to know he is okay. And when it plays, I will know it is a hug from heaven where bluebirds fly, troubles melt, and dreams really do come true.