Whenever I think about June, there’s a song that always pops into my head. You can simply say “June” to me, and I’ll immediately respond with:
You can call her June
Though she wasn’t born that month
It’s one of those wonderful songs that makes me wish I could sing and play the guitar.
And the things I could’ve sung for her
Would have been about all I wanted
So as I sat down to write a blog post about June, naturally I had to listen to this song.
And nobody knows
Why she was left alone
Nobody knows
Anything at all
Anything about June
I know what I want to write about. I want to write about how wonderful it is to not have to dress Aurora in layers and warm clothing (which she hates). I want to write about the joy on her face as she lies outside in the sun, the breeze caressing her face and playing with her hair. I want to write about how much easier it is to take her places, to feed her. I want to write about how summer means a greater sense of freedom.
Oh June
Who would sleep through all of November
And some things growing in my window sill
Are there to make me remember
And I want to write about last June. Last June, when things were relatively good. By the end of May, Aurora had stopped screaming every day. She could tolerate being in a room with more than one person, meaning we could finally have dinner together as a family, the four of us. I want to write about how we were optimistic, and how everything changed one Friday afternoon. I want to write about that horrible weekend when we googled “infantile spasms” and feared the worst.
I want to write about how we pulled through. Again.
And nobody knows
What she could have been
Nobody knows
Anything
Anything about June
But I’m not able to start writing the blog post I meant to write. Because I listen to the song. I listen to the lyrics. And I know that this song was written 20 years ago, and that it’s not about Aurora at all. But it might as well be. That’s the awesome thing about music, isn’t it? Nobody knows what she could have been. Nobody knows anything about June.
I want to write about how difficult it is, not knowing what the future, let alone next month, will bring. I want to write about the constant uncertainty, the lack of straight answers to our questions. But that’s another blog post, I think. For now, I just listen to the song. And think about June.
Oh June
Who I know disappeared in May
And the things you would hear in a lifetime
Are nothing
Nothing she would say
And nobody knows
About her wind and where it blows
Nobody knows anything at all
Anything about June
Anything about June
June
Anything ‘Bout June is a song by singer/songwriter Unni Wilhelmsen. Check out her website and find her music on Spotify.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, hosted by Kristi Rieger Campbell at Findingninee. This week’s sentence is “Hey June…”
Not knowing what the future is is so hard sometimes, especially when there are medical worries… This post is beautiful, as is that song. Funny how a song written 20 years ago speaks so deeply to life today. I need to go read more about Aurora now 🙂
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Thanks for this week’s sentence, it was perfect. It felt so good to get back into writing! I’ve discovered that a lot of the music I listen to somehow connects to Aurora. Probably because my life and hers are so closely connected right now (and perhaps always will be). Also, it’s a fun excercise to use music as a foundation for writing.
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Whoa…this is GOOD! Who does the song you referenced? Love the words…
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I know, I love the song! It came out when I was 15-16, so that’s probably why it’s made a mark on me. It’s by Norwegian singer-songwriter Unni Wilhelmsen. Check her out: unniwilhelmsen.com
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Such a lovely song – words and music. Thank you for sharing it with us…
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Ah yes, so many times we sit and write and what we “wanted to write” will have to wait. Because what you actually wrote it’s time to say. 🙂 Lovely.
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This is such a beautiful post. And the song, too, although I honestly don’t think I’ve ever heard it. (Off to YouTube…) Can’t tell you how often I sit at the empty page and try to write what I want, only to have something else entirely emerge. I suppose there’s always a reason.
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