Five months: The healing magic of music and dance

I've hit the concert and music circuit often since my wife Kim died Nov. 23. It's therapeutic and soothes my soul. I'm even remembering Kim's simple message to me when I'd get emotional listening to certain songs:

"Then quit listening to so many sad songs!" she'd tell me. Kim liked dancing to Aretha Franklin and Motown. Her final dance at the Seattle wedding of Ambryn and Alex in September 2015 was a classic. And it will continue to be one my family's cherished pictures.

Singer-songwriters simply write a lot of sad songs. While they can tug at your heart, the messages come from the soul. And it makes for great messages in songs, for most of us have gone through some heartache.

I love music. A couple decades ago when I took in a community leadership retreat, then called the Institute for Renewing Community Leadership, the question was asked if one had to do it all over again, what path might you take. I said singer-songwriter.

But I laughed a bit about it. Talent helps and makes that do-over easier.

For I grew up listening to Jackson Browne and others of that genre. Those '70s songwriters like Browne brought great lyrics to great songs. His "For a Dancer" is still among my all-time favorites, and when I spoke at my high school graduation back in 1975, I quoted from another Browne tune, "These Days."

"Don't confront me with my failures, I had not forgotten them."

Kim wasn't planning on dying just yet. So, while she and I talked very briefly about some funeral plans, the only thing I recalled was she wanted the Patty Griffin song -- "Heavenly Day."

It wasn't, however, an easy choice. Youngest son Andy and his wife Sarah had that song at their wedding. But after some family discussion, we opted for it to be played. And I'm glad we did.

Who to play it was a bit more difficult. We have some great singers and musicians in the Melius circle -- Tyler Polzin, Tom Womack, Jeff Melius. But they were too close. So I sent out a Facebook inquiry to my musician friends and, amazingly, three came through in short order.

Ann Rosenquist Fee found one; Mary Jane Alm said she would check within her network. But it was Lori Jean Mathiowetz who found Andrea Lyn Gehrke. We'd never met, but she didn't hesitate, played with such passion and depth, and her song will be forever etched in our family's history and souls.

Found out later she married the son of a high school classmate of mine, Dave Gehrke. A couple of months later, I attended a fundraiser of hers in New Ulm, one raising money for kids in the New Ulm school district without a permanent address, those who were likely couch hopping or living with relatives.

Music has that power. Always has.

That's part of the reason Prince's death -- and his tributes -- touch us so. I joined a couple friends Thursday night at First Avenue in Minneapolis. I was touched by the simplicity of action, for thousands joined in a peaceful, yet rocking tribute. It was special.

I was never a diehard Prince fan, never saw him live. But loved his music and "Purple Rain" was, and is, my favorite. Same goes for "Nothing Compares 2 U," which Prince wrote and Sinead O'Connor made popular.

But Prince's evolution and personal journey I found interesting. He had so many gifts to share and he seemed to be re-inventing himself, growing, and -- finally -- opening up to his fans. But the time of his death, he had also grown spiritually and was giving back to causes, those in need. Particularly our youth.

One of his lesser known songs, "Sometimes It Snows in April," touches both our heartache and the magic of music.

Sometimes it snows in April
Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad
Sometimes I wish that life was never ending,
But all good things, they say, never last

All good things they say, never last
And love, it isn't love until it's past

That truly sums up this journey. This thing called life.