Music heals

If you’re still carrying grief, music can help you move through it. One of the most loving gestures I ever received was a playlist made just for me. Twenty years later, I still return to those songs and weep — not only for my mom, but for the friend who understood me so completely.

If you’re ready to process even a little more of your pain, let someone you trust hold space for you as you grieve and reorient. You are loved — more than you know.

If you or someone you love is in distress, please visit my guide for support.

Grief has no roadmap —
but music can help carry us through.

Here are three artists who’ve shared their own stories of loss through song, offering companionship in sorrow.

Grieving a child’s death

Song: Tears in Heaven
Artist: Eric Clapton

After losing his son Conor in a tragic accident, Clapton processed his grief through this powerful ballad. Listen to both the 2004 and 2013 versions; his voice carries different layers of healing over time.

Grieving a parent’s death

Song: Hurt
Artist: Christina Aguilera

Written in honor of her late father, this song captures the ache of loss and unresolved pain. Her vulnerable performance resonates with many daughters who’ve lived through emotional estrangement.

My story

In my 20’s, I blamed my parents in the same way Christina Aguilera blamed her father.

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I absorbed my mother’s guilt and rage. My sadness and emotional pain were unbearable at times—until a physician directed me to outpatient care at a psychiatric hospital.

Over the years, I continued to do the work —
and it wasn’t easy.
Healing from intergenerational trauma and parental estrangement took everything I had.
There were moments I didn’t think I’d make it.
But I did.

And today, I no longer live inside my story, my history. My pain no longer defines me. Letting go of sadness was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done — and one of the most liberating. In its place, joy returned.

Slowly.
In unexpected ways.

In 2008, my mom was admitted to palliative care. My parents adored my fiancé, and near the end, my mom requested that we marry in the hospital chapel so that she could witness our nuptials. We married the next day.

Her cancer was spreading faster than anticipated and I remember sitting with her on the hospital bed knowing that she wanted permission to die.

There was a big hole in my heart for all the years that we missed but the biggest gift of love I could give her now was letting her go.

She died three days before her wedding anniversary and 15 days before our wedding.

Her death was agonizing and heart-wrenching, but the family experience we created — of love given and love received — carries me to this day.

Grieving someone who couldn’t stay

Song: Fire and Rain
Artist: James Taylor

Written after the suicide of his childhood friend Suzanne, this song speaks to grief, addiction, and survival. Taylor’s plea is raw and real.

Suicide is so deeply stigmatized that people often avoid those who are grieving, those who are left behind. Whether the warning signs were clear or completely hidden, the loss leaves a lasting ache, reshaping everything in your life.

If you’ve lost someone to suicide, I want you to know that acceptance is often the hardest part of the healing journey. It doesn’t mean forgetting, and it doesn’t mean being okay with what happened. It simply means learning to live with a new kind of truth.

When we lose someone to suicide, especially someone we deeply love, our old understanding of the world — what’s fair, what’s preventable, what love can fix — gets shattered. The “new kind of truth” is the quiet, painful recognition that even with all the love in the world, we can’t always stop someone else’s suffering. It’s the truth that their story ended in a way we never wanted. And we must find a way to carry that truth without letting it destroy us.

Acceptance is the soft sigh of the soul —
it arrives not when we are ready,
but when we are tired of holding back the tide.

———

It is a softer, humbler way of living — less rigid; often more compassionate.

Legacy reflection

Today, I can sit with someone’s pain without being overwhelmed by it. Not because I’ve numbed myself, but because I’ve become strong enough to hold space for others. Their loss doesn’t feel heavy to me: that is why I can support them.

It is one of the reasons I offer my services to lighten what can be lightened. I help others make a beautiful exit together despite influences from the past. 

Reflection Question:
What song has supported you during a tough time in your life?
What feelings does it bring up for you now?