The Moon and Antarctica
Today marks the midpoint between life and death. Just one month after the birth of a son, and exactly one month before the one year anniversary of one passed. Balancing joy and grief. Holding, feeding, and loving a fat healthy baby brings a welcome distraction to the planning we need to do to celebrate our angel. So far, the only thing I have come up with to honor the baby we knew for only a short time is to compile the songs that have hit us on a very deep level over the past year. One of the songs in considerations for our little boy’s CD is off the Modest Mouse album The Moon and Antarctica. On our one-thousand mile road trip to our new home last fall, I noticed for the first time how much the lyrical content brings up ephemeral existence. Life and death is all over the album. Some examples follow.
Third Planet:
“Baby cum angels fly around you reminding you we used
to be three and not just two
And that’s how the world began
And that’s how the world will end”
Gravity Rides Everything:
“As fruit drops, flesh it sags
Everything will fall right into place
When we die, some sink and some lay
But at least I don’t see you float away”
Dark Center of the Universe:
“Well, died sayin’ something, but didn’t mean it
Everyone’s life ends, but no one ever completes it
Dry or wet ice, they both melt and you’re equally cheated”
The Cold Part:
“So long to this sad, sad part of the world”
Lives:
“It’s hard to remember, it’s hard to remember
We’re alive for the first time
It’s hard to remember were alive for the last time
It’s hard to remember, it’s hard to remember
To live before you die
It’s hard to remember, it’s hard to remember
That our lives are such a short time”
What People are Made of:
“At the battle at the bottom of the ocean, well the dead do rise
You need proof I got proof at the surface you can watch em float by”
Those are just a few from beginning to end. The one about the “baby cum angels” obviously is of particular interest to me. Though our boy was gestationally far along enough to be considered a live birth and not a miscarriage, it was close enough to where the line is drawn that I feel like I share a similar pain to those who endure miscarriage, abortion, and early infant death. The so-called silent loss that very few talk about, and even less that understand. The Moon and Antartica is beautiful, and I am listening to it quite often these days, as I ponder life and death. It makes me wonder what experiences Isaac Brock has lived through, or if these words are even from him. Perhaps he and I could compare stories of being a human scale, balancing this grief and joy.