David Brooks, my bass player, band mate and dear friend of 15 years was stabbed to death by his son on Sunday night.
There. I said it. It’s been a solid 24 hours since I got the news and I still look at the words in utter disbelief as if they were part of someone else’s life – someone else’s terrible tabloid headline.
I woke up this morning grabbed my pillow tightly and sincerely hoped that it was all just a bad dream. I have vivid dreams and often wake still shaken from the experience. I look around my bedroom. It looks innocent enough. I reach for my ipad and switch it on to Facebook and I see all of the condolences posted on my page.
Damn. It’s real. It wasn’t a dream – sweet, kind, wonderful Dave is gone.
And the weeping begins all over again.
The dread, the horror, the profound sense of loss returns immediately. I can’t shake it off. My usual strength and cheerful attitude fails me. All I can think of is the title of that Courtney Love/Hole album: “Live Through This”
And then my thoughts run morbid. I start to visualize Dave’s last moments, lying there on the floor dying. The horror of my thoughts turn my stomach. I shake them off. They return. I imagine his pain upon the first cut, his handsome, sweet face contorted in agony and disbelief.
What is wrong with me?
Then I start to think of Dave’s family, his kids and I realize that there is even a more profound hurt out there. We have to heal and live through this loss but I tell you it seems more than one can bear, especially for his family.
I say to myself: I survived the sudden loss of my beloved mom and dad, I can live through this.
And I weep again.
I think of Dave in happy times. Dressed so beautifully with great looking shoes, cuff links. So many of our gigs required the guys in the band to wear suits and Dave always showed up in a beautiful suit, with a crisp white or some chic colored shirt and often with cuff links. Everything about Dave was first class, right down to his luggage. He, with his beautifully custom crafted bass and state-of-the-art rig. He, with the gadgets and fully loaded ipod back in the day. Dave loved music – all kinds. His big smile and those strong white teeth. How he had those teeth with all the candy he ate I will never know! I got such joy when I could make him laugh and he was always one to catch my quick wit and man – would he laugh – doubled over. I knew he would call me out when I would flub a lyric with a “What?” over the mic. We shared a love of movies. I watched his children grow up. And then there was his playing. Everyone acknowledged his brilliance. He was funky, the real deal and he loved to rock too. He always sang back-up (unless he couldn’t hear himself in the monitor!) He had an awesome falsetto. He would humor me when I insisted the band learn a Liza Minnelli tune. We traveled to Mexico, Russia, Ukraine – played through every wedding, outdoor fest, concert and club together – me and my Shivers – and Dave was the pulse for close to 15 years. He was the consummate professional. My rock, my “go to guy,” my brother and he can not be replaced. Lynne Jordan & the Shivers will never be the same.
Ever.
Meanwhile … I have to find a substitute for Dave as soon as possible because we have a big event in California – this weekend. We have an entire calendar of shows to play and we have to have a bass player. How’s that for reality? The fucking show must go on.
I weep again.
I say to myself: I survived the sudden loss of my beloved mom and dad, I can live through this.
I don’t know if grief gets harder as you get older or if one simply forgets how badly it torments your waking moments.
Then I remember the moment I was told of my mother’s death from my father over the phone. I see my parent’s number on my caller ID. I pick up and hear my father’s anguished screaming (is he screaming?) and I began shrieking over and over again: “Daddy, what’s wrong? Daddy, what happened?”
Then came those two words: “Mommy Dead”
Ahh … there it is.
The room spun around. And after that phone call I fell to the ground on my knees and a sound erupted from my heart that can only be described as a primal scream. I screamed as loudly as I could until my throat was raw. I remember hearing my neighbors’ worried voices coming through the wall. “What happened?” “I think her mother died!”
I screamed again. “Mama! Mama! Mama! NOOO!”
I started sprouting scripture. “Oh my God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken me?”
I think that’s the answer. I have fooled myself into thinking I must control my emotions. I actually felt shame at how devastated I was in light of the pain his family is sufferring and tried to keep my own outpouring of grief civilized. I need to get primal. I want to wail at the walls, cover myself in ash, pull at my hair and scream:
HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?
DAVE. DAVE. DAVE.
My heart is broken. I am shaken to the core.
This is how profoundly the loss of Dave has affected my life.
And I know I’m not the only one.
Live through this.
