Sting

It's weird how things just hit you out of the blue.

R's brother gave him a free ticket to see The Police the other day. So after a little discussion, K purchased two more tickets so we all three of us could go. I had always wanted to see Sting in concert, and now, I got to see a band I never thought I would see in a million years. I should have been more excited, but the first concert they had that was shown live on tv was not that good, so I was afraid of being disappointed.

Today started out rough. I won't go into detail, but by the time we bundled into the car to go to the concert, I was hesitant and just plain tired.

We got to the venue and found our seats. The location was good, the weather was pretty nice, and Elvis Costello was opening. Elvis was pretty entertaining and at one point I turned over to R and told him I was glad we all three went.

Then the lights dimmed and The Police took the stage. The first song I made it through okay. Then it hit me.

Memories of singing and dancing to Sting and the Police while I lived with my mom came flooding into my head. The tears threatened to start and I just looked straight on, singing the words from heart, willing myself to stop feeling.

What I didn't realize before I agreed to go, and was suddenly becoming realization, was that Sting and The Police had gotten me through a lot of rough patches in my life. They were tied to my mom, my emotional high school years, my marriage. The Beatles for me had been an introduction to my hippie nature, my calm resolve for understanding, peace, and love. But The Police...they had been my therapy for yearning, heartache, and deep frustration. When I sang a Police song, I sang it with every fiber of my being. Connecting with the loneliness and frustration of missed opportunities and unachieved dreams.

Mental images leapt between my mother and the deep loneliness that pervaded most of my life. I thought of all the dreams I had...to travel, to be successful, to be strong. And then was immediately followed by all the disappointment and darkness that saturated my life up until this point.

I kept telling myself to be strong. To be resilient. But the emotions kept flooding in. Through it all I kept looking forward, not wanting the roommates to know what hell I was going through. I thought they'd had a rough day as it was, they didn't need to worry about me and honestly, some demons you had to deal with alone.

At one point, I excused myself and headed towards the restrooms. I thought I had finally got my emotions under control when I was walking. I just needed to relieve myself and freshen up. I wanted to look happy when the lights finally came up.

But once in the restroom, in the stall, with the bare white bathroom door to look at, I started thinking of my mother once again. Thought about how I missed her. How I wish I had been there more for her. How I wished I could just hold her.

When people say they wished they could hold someone they missed one last time, it's utter bullshit. I wish I could hold her everyday. I wish I could go and visit whenever I wanted to. And no matter how often you visited someone. No matter how close. You still wished you had visited them more. Showed them more affection. More attention.

I got back to my seat and still tried to gain control of everything. By the last song, I was able to stop crying but just felt wasted and drained. As we walked out, R asked if I was okay. I briefly deliberated over whether I would just lie and cover it up, but I felt that would only be cheating myself and our friendship. So I told the truth, I just blurted, "Yeah, I just miss my mom." He asked me to repeat myself because he couldn't hear my low-pitched whisper. To which I said louder, "Yeah, I miss my mom." I could hear the sympathy in his voice, but I was near tears again, I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and be done with the night. We climbed towards the car and I sunk into the leather, staring out the window.

It was complete silence. I didn't want an awkward ride home, so I figured I'd break the ice first. I blurted out, "Was Sting wearing a mesh shirt?" To which R laughed and K exclaimed yes. That got the conversation rolling. I breathed a sigh of relief. I stayed pretty much quiet in the back, but their banter back and forth was cathartic.

As we arrived home, I just felt worn out.

I do feel a bit better now, but I'll never forget the first night I finally and truly felt the absence of my mom.