Well Tuned: Thanks Phil Lesh, Fare You Well

Photo by naleck, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

When the Grateful Dead’s Phil Lesh was getting ready to advance into his 30s, his father was a making transition of his own. He was dying of cancer. Phil was about four years into the long strange trip of the Grateful Dead at the time. While traveling back and forth to visit his father, he wanted to write a song he could sing to him. He got with Robert Hunter, The Dead’s long time lyricist to compose one of the Band’s most memorable songs, “Box of Rain.”

I got to hear him sing it at the last show The Dead ever played together in Pittsburgh, PA during the legendary “Rain Show” in 1995. I wrote about that concert and my personal experiences with The Dead back in 2019 in my first published piece here at Ordinary Times. My friend Andrew, who regular readers of Ordinary Times know as the Managing Editor, encouraged me to write about that day. This led to a few more submittals which got the attention of the Editor-in-Chief, Will Truman. He asked me if I would like to become a regular contributor. Of course, I jumped at the chance. This lead to about three years of creativity for me. Then it just… stopped.

It is not that I was suffering from writer’s block or that I was not inspired to write. No, it was life…and death. Specifically, my parents’ deaths that occurred just three weeks apart from each other in December of 2020 and the fact I did not really grieve for them until one day on the way home from work, not long after my last submittal to Ordinary Times in the Spring of 2022, when the loss of them washed over me out of nowhere like a rogue wave.

From that moment I went on a journey of self-reflection, including my own mortality and how I wanted to live my life moving forward. During that time, of course I relied on my vast collection of music to help me through. Phil’s “Box of Rain” was one of those songs that lyrically stuck with me from the first time I ever heard it many years ago. I can remember when I was going through the tribulations of my parents’ declining health, I had talks with them on separate occasions about it. I asked what I could do for them beyond what I already was doing, what could I do to help them knowing that time was short.

“What do you want me to do to…
To do for you to see you through?”

It was a strange time for me. There was a lot going on during the what would become the last year of their lives. I will not go into great detail about all of it. You can read about that particular time in my life in the piece “You Can Pick Your Friends” I wrote back in 2021 here on Ordinary Times. Suffice it to say, I was going through a lot during the last year of their lives; I was just too busy at the time to see it, to feel it. Too many irons in the fire was for me, a good and bad thing. Multitasking is not a problem for me; I have spent the last three decades in working in logistics. If you want to survive and be successful in that field, you learn how to manage the plethora of issues that arise to keep the trains running on time. The problem with that mindset is that you can omit subjects that are not presently in your face in order to deal with the now.

 As that year progressed, I made a conscious effort to be there for them in whatever capacity they needed me for, no matter what I was into at the time. My relationship with my parents from my early twenties through most of my adult life was tumultuous, to say the least. I never let that get in the way of being there for them though, always staying on that high road, which can be the hardest road to travel at times. It was strange because for the first time in my life, my relationship with my father and mother was taking a turn in a direction that I never expected. I felt comfortable around my father, like I always assumed sons were supposed to feel, for the first time in my life. I became less complacent around my mother. I could feel my mother pulling away from me as my father was drawing closer.

“Walk out of any doorway…
Feel your way, feel your way like the day before…
Maybe you’ll find direction…
Around some corner where it’s been waiting to meet you…”

In the last six months of his life, I got to know more about my father than I did the fifty-one years of my own life leading up to that point. When he died suddenly I felt cheated. Finally, after all these years, I had a father that I always wanted and then in an instant he was gone. Then three weeks later my mother would pass. That touchstone was taken from me, skipped across the surface of a pond and then it sunk to the bottom in an instant. It was more the shock of it all happening as quickly as it did than the anger I felt deep inside for the years wasted that did not allow me to grieve in the beginning. Eventually though, the anger would surface and supplant the shock I felt.

“Walk into splintered sunlight…
Inch your way through dead dreams to another land…
Maybe you’re tired and broken…
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken…
And thoughts unclear…”

We were on good terms when they passed. Everything was out in the open by then. The laundry had been aired. Looking back on that fact, I believe that is when the relationships began to shift. My father was enlightened by it, my mother was hurt. Maybe she could not let go of the guilt like I did, like my father had. At the time, I was feeling an odd vibe but could not understand what it was.

“What do you want me to do…
To do for you to see you through???
A box of rain will ease the pain…
And love will see you through…”

That vibe stayed with me until that spring day in 2022. Forgiveness was something I thought I had given them long ago when in realty I had not. The anger that would well up like acid from my stomach when I dwelled on my relationship with my parents and all the missed opportunities to make things right through the years came out that day, opportunities missed by both sides.

“Just a box of rain, wind and water…
Believe it if you need it…
If you don’t, just pass it on…
Sun and shower, wind and rain…
In and out the window…
Like a moth before the flame…”

That day I decided to let go of that anger, to finally forgive them and myself. Carrying that bitterness and anger was just as bad as the time wasted while they were alive. Just like then, it was doing no good, served no purpose other than to perpetuate a sadness inside of me that I could not shake.

“And it’s just a box of rain…
I don’t know who put it there…
Believe it if you need it…
Or leave it if you dare…”

I spent that summer in reflection mode. During my weekends at the coast, staring out over the Atlantic, I redefined how I wanted to live my life from that point on. This would help me more than ever this year when dealing with the deaths of my in-laws. They were an integral part of my life, of my children’s lives. I learned so much from them, about family, sacrifice, how to be a man and good father to my children. The strength they instilled in me from a very young age helped me cope with their deaths. They gave me everything they could, their love runneth over the cup that I drank from and I will miss them greatly.

My path continues on. My parents and my in-laws now live on within me. They can see the things I want them to see through my eyes now. Life is not the same without them but I now know that the time I have left will be spent without anger or malice in my heart. Life is too short for that.

 “And it’s just a box of rain, or a ribbon in your hair…
Such a long, long time to be gone and a short time to be there…”

 To me, the beauty of music is once you allow it to become part of you, part of your soul, you can interpret it however you choose. I am not completely sure what Phil was thinking about on those trips to see his father fifty-plus years ago that made him want to put pen to paper. What I do know is the song he helped to create and sing was one of the things that was there for me when I was going through a time in my life where I was seeking answers to questions that would end up defining who I am as a human being.

“Box of Rain” was the last song ever performed live by the Grateful Dead in 1995.

Phil Lesh has left this broke down place, but his music will continue on like the river that flows with sweet songs to rock our souls…

Fare you well Phil.

E Pluribus Unum