Reflection on Dec. 24

It’s Christmas Eve.

Every Christmas Eve, I get to spend time with my family having good food, laughing, opening and giving gifts, and just having a good time. I love Christmas Eve, from that perspective…

But as much as I love Christmas Eve, it also makes me a little sad. Why? Because I know I’ll be taking a drive, by myself, and I’ll be listening to “Potter’s House – Live,” a live EP that was put out by a band in which a friend of mine used to play bass and harmonica.

It’s not a sad record. In fact, it’s really fun…

What makes me sad is that it’s already been five years (maybe six, I’ve lost track a little), and I know I’ll never see Paul again. He died on a Christmas Eve from Hodgkin’s.

I wrote a song about him that is going on the bonus disk for the new record. I’m posting the lyric below, and every word of it’s true. It’s copyrighted…so don’t screw with me.

———-
For Paul
It’s been five years of maybe more
since you left this world a little more poor
on a Christmas Eve…and maybe that’s why I hate Christmas songs.
I met you in what must’ve been a twist of fate.
I’d never seen anyone play the bass
like their life depended on it, like you did…and we all sang along.

And the whole world would almost shake.

You’ve been dead now a number of years.
I guess I still feel like you’re still here
and I wonder why I haven’t bumped into you at a show.
I’m still sad I never said goodbye.
I don’t really know why I didn’t try
to stay in touch…and maybe I’ll never know.

I still have the piece of paper you wrote your phone number on.

I don’t know if they’ve got bands up there…
But I know they’ve got one-hell-of-a harmonica player,
and I’d imagine you’re playing now…and I bet it sounds great.
Met your sister last year, by chance.
Maybe I can make peace at last.
I told her I miss you, Paul…and I still love you to this day.

I still play your record every Christmas Eve…
And it always brings out the best in me.

…I’ll see you around.

———-

(c) Copyright Derek Brink, 2007. Work in Progress. Do not take what is not yours.

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