We’ve been receiving dozens of stories from people coast to coast about the transformative power of music. May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and we are publishing a story every day in May.
Submitted by: Geoff Ringrose
Suffice it to say that, as young parents with 3 girls spaced less than 6 years apart, we had our fair share of The Wiggles, Barney, and Blue’s Clues. As someone who loves exploring and discovering music, I took it upon myself to make sure my girls knew there was more to get excited about than “The Wheels on the Bus”. I really enjoyed seeing them react to bands like AC/DC, Queen, The Eagles, The Blues Brothers, ABBA, and just about everything in between. Eventually my middle daughter, Emma, simply called it “daddy’s music” whenever we’d put it on in the car or the house. But one song, in particular, had somehow grabbed her; The Devil’s Dance Floor by Flogging Molly. A 4-year-old doesn’t listen to lyrics; the song spoke to her through the tempo, the beat, the unmistakable Irish tones. In fact, once the tin whistle started at the beginning of the song, everything would stop, Emma’s eyes would widen and light up, a gap-toothed grin would burst across her face, and she would dance, either restrained in her car seat behind my driver’s seat, or unrestrained like a looney around the living room.
On November 19th, 2005, while returning from a much-needed family weekend away, another driver missed a stop sign and struck our van as we passed through an intersection less than 5 kilometers from our home. Our 5 ½ year old Emma was killed in the accident. In the weeks, months and years that followed, we struggled to come to terms with our “new normal”, and continually found ourselves discovering how things had changed in every aspect of our lives. In January I returned to work, and after another 3 months, I realized that I had been driving to work in total silence. My drive to work routine, because I needed it to get me in the mood, had always been, without fail, a large coffee and the radio. The moment reminded me of my need for music in my life, and made me realize how much I had depended on it before the accident. Slowly, guardedly, I let it back in, and soon found myself moved, tearful, reflective, lifted, joyful, and once again, even if only for brief moments in the beginning, happy.
Today I rarely spend any day in silence. Whether its the radio, a playlist, some old vinyl, or several mandatory concerts each year, music is never far away. In 2017, we managed to catch Flogging Molly in a small venue in Belfast, and I was like a little kid at Christmas. I love to see the entire show, so we perched ourselves on a riser above the crowd in front of the stage, and not a note of the 90 minutes disappointed. About ¾ of the way through the set, the unmistakable sound of that tin whistle raced across the heads on the dance floor and struck me like a hammer between the eyes. I have never been so flushed with emotion so quickly. I soon found my self unashamedly sobbing, tears streaming down my cheeks, my heart racing, yet grinning like an idiot as the music lifted me; the full spectrum of emotion in 4 minutes.
That moment, that song, reaffirmed my belief in the transformative power of music. One song has taken me from the joy of watching a little girl embrace the spark only music can provide, to the despair of missing her giggles and excitement, and back to the elation of knowing those moments weave a thread which will keep us tied together no matter what. I cannot imagine my journey without it.
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