THE GIFT THAT CURES “WOULDA, COULDA, SHOULDA”

JANUARY 6, 2022 – In his later years, my father, who loved music as much as any human being could, was fond of quoting Charles Munch, who said, “Music expresses the inexpressible.” Dad’s frequent description of music this way revealed much about his emotional depth, because he was actually supremely gifted at expressing himself in spoken and written language.

I’ve long realized that Dad’s biggest gift to his family, though, went far beyond music; it was love—the essence of what “expresses the inexpressible.”

My mother, who was also immersed in music, approached the art form differently. As a mathematician, she was far more intrigued by the structure and theory of music. But make no mistake: she loved music too. Her piano students passed under a banner over her studio entrance that read, “Music is Love in Search of a Word.” And when Dad joyfully “conducted” a symphony performed by the living room hi-fi and said, “Isn’t this beautiful?” Mother would say, “It is beautiful!”

Dad loved his family dearly, but when a bad case of the flu roared through the household, it was Mother who sat on the side of each patient’s bed, calmly stroking the exposed temple of the patient’s troubled head resting on the pillow. The soothing sound of her hand passing repeatedly over my ear reminded me of a steady pattern of waves on an ocean beach.

Love of the sort my parents understood and expressed has been playing out in my life lately in transformative abundance. Every word from every friend, family member, and acquaintance who learns of my predicament is an echo of Dad quoting Munch, a reminder of Mother’s banner—and the ocean waves that she summoned to wash away distress.

When my sister Elsa called yesterday evening to wish me encouragement for today’s encounter with the Bone Marrow Biopsy team, she said something that astonished me.  “Just think, Eric,” Elsa said. “There isn’t a moment of the day when someone isn’t thinking about you.”

Even if the statement is only a quarter accurate, its premise is extraordinary. Whether it’s 10 people at a time or 100, I’m so overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and concern, I’ve become a fountain of tears—not of self-pity disguised as sadness or anger but tears of joy of the purest form.

And whence do these tears flow? From a reservoir of gratitude the size of a sea of symphonies expressing the inexpressible in wave after wave after wave.

This remarkable process that I’m experiencing works as a full eclipse of “woulda, coulda, shoulda” regrets about my shortcomings, failures, mistakes, omissions, and unfulfilled goals and desires. This transformation is the ultimate gift. Though wrapped in pain and suffering, once revealed, this gift is priceless. And best of all, it’s shared by all who contribute to it, to my “life in the crucible.” This gift becomes a common treasure and source of sustenance that binds us inextricably. In such a place, I’m convinced, lies humanity’s hope and salvation.

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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson