Old Friends and Special Requests

Dancing with my son

When my son Chad died in 2017, people did their best to comfort me with condolences and I did my best to accept them, even when they hurt…”He’s in a better place,” was one, and “His suffering is over,” was another. But the one that stung the most was, “I can’t imagine,” to which I inevitably replied, “Don’t, don’t imagine.”

Yesterday on social media I came across a list of what to say to a bereaved parent: “Tell me about your child.” “Can I sit with you?” “I’m so sorry.” It was early afternoon and I was getting ready to go to a concert at the Ram’s Head Tavern in Annapolis, near my home. Memory, as it does, took me back to the moment I met another folk star and had a chance to request a song. I think what he said was that he wasn’t playing it on this tour, but for the movement of the poem, I altered that detail. The rest is true. Here it is, “Old Friends.”

Old Friends

From the bar I recognize the folk star

Walking the small-town streets hours

Before the set is to begin. I approach

Him with a wave and a hello

And his smile encompasses me—

Another fan on a warm evening.

I tell him how much his lyrics sing

To me, how long I have followed the path

Of his joy and sorrow and then I ask

If he will play a song that helped me

Survive my son’s death. Startled, he expresses

Condolences and that he does not play

This tune anymore. I understand. We part

On an embrace. Midway through the second set

He plays the song, and I register

Our collective sorrows and my son,

Late of this world, stomping the rhythm

Opening his throat with joy

And breathing again what life

Was left to him.