The Part of the Movie You Didn't Want to See

There's a song I wrote for my dad that keeps circling back to me.

Did you ever worry 'bout stains on the walls?
And all the messes we'd leave in the halls?
Did you ever wonder if you were stronger?
Would things be easier? Would days feel longer?

Guess that's the part of the movie you didn't want to see
And I wonder what you thought when I stood tall and free
Telling you my wonders, all the things I'd see

The Questions That Circle Back

I think a lot about what my dad did and didn't get to see. Me stumbling, me trying, me becoming a dad myself. The way I wrestled with the same shadows he probably carried but never named.

Did you ever think 'bout times you went wrong?
All the harsh words spoken, when silence was strong?
But I still think 'bout all the things you said
And the battles we fought, that stayed in my head

That's the cruelty of grief: whole reels of life that never get shown. Conversations that play out only in my head. Questions I'll never get answered.

When Thoughts Won't Let Go

This is what rumination looks like—the amygdala sparks emotion, the brain tries to make sense of it, and together they trap us in loops. Which is why writing songs like this feels less like indulgence and more like survival.

When you looked at me could you see what I could see?
Knowing things would get easier, just let it be
It's looking down at a phone call you never wanna receive
Letting go of feelings 'cause you know you gotta grieve

Lyrics become my way of asking the questions out loud, knowing the answers won't come. They're my reel, my way of keeping the movie going, even if only in fragments.

Connects to: [[grief/2025-10-14--the-weight-of-an-empty-chair]], [[rumination/2025-10-23--why-my-brain-wont-stop-replaying-old-mistakes]], [[grief/2025-10-22--wandering-ghost]]