We usually celebrate birthdays and mourn death anniversaries. But today, on the nine month anniversary of the death of my parent, Sandee, I both mourn and celebrate. I continue to miss her, and I continue to sing to her and to dance to her song.
While she died of cancer last year, I would walk in and out of her room. I sang to her, and to myself, inside my head, over and over again, the lyrics from The Beatles song, Honey Pie.
Realizing I was singing this, I saw that it was a strange song to sing in sadness and fear. It is a jazzy, vaudeville, music hall kind of song. But the more I hear the lyrics, the more that it makes sense.
Honey Pie
She was a working girl,
North of England way.
Now she's hit the big time
in the U.S.A.
And if she could only hear me,
this is what I'd say -
Honey pie,
you are making me crazy.
I'm in love but I'm lazy,
So won't you please come home?
Oh, honey pie,
my position is tragic.
Come and show me the magic
of your Hollywood song.
You became a legend of the silver screen
and now the thought of meeting you
makes me weak in the knees.
Oh, honey pie,
you are driving me frantic.
Sail across the Atlantic
to be where you belong.
Honey pie, come back to me.
I like it like that,
Oohh, I like this kinda, hot kind of music.
Hot kind of music, play it to me,
play it to me honey with blues.
Will the wind that blew her boat
across the sea,
kindly send her sailing
back to me?
Honey pie,
you are making me crazy
I'm in love but I'm lazy,
So won't you please come home?
Come, come back to me honey pie. |
As is write this, I watch the one bird in my yard, with a large, orange chest and stomach. I sing to it and I think it’s her, sailing back to me.
