Lovin’ Her

Stabbing the PAUSE button on his Spotify screen, the man said, “That right there was your mama’s favourite song, ‘specially after she took sick.  She had me play it near a dozen times ever’ day ‘fore she passed.”

“Why’d she like it so much?” the little boy asked, snuggling close to his father on the worn sofa.

“I reckon she liked the melody,” the man said, “an’ the way the geetar sounded.  But mostly she liked the words.  Said some of ‘em reminded her of ever’thin’ she’d been through in her life.”

“Who’s the guy singin’ it?”

“Same guy as what wrote it, Kristofferson.”

“Chris…what?” the boy asked.

“Kris Kristofferson.  Wrote a whole lotta good songs, that boy.”

“Kinda scratchy voice for singin’,” the boy said. “Like he got soda-biscuits in his craw.”

“I guess so,” the man chuckled.  “Maybe that’s why your mama used to ask me to sing along.”

“You cain’t sing, Daddy!  Ever’body knows that.”  A sly grin graced the boy’s thin face.

“Who says I cain’t sing?  Your mama liked it good enough.”

“Calves cain’t give milk, roosters cain’t lay eggs, an’ you cain’t sing,” the boy insisted.  “Ask anybody.”

“Don’t gotta ask nobody,” the man smiled.  “All’s I know is your mama liked me singin’ that song to her.”

“What were them words you said she liked?  Those the parts you sang to her?”

“Yessir,” the man replied.  “Two diff’rent parts, one near the start, one near the end.  She said the first part reminded her what the cancer was robbin’ her of, which made her sad.  But it made her happy, too, ‘cause it also brought back mem’ries of alla them good times we had, ‘specially after you come along.”

“You gonna sing it for me?” the boy asked.

“You sure you want me to?”

When the boy nodded silently, the man cleared his throat, and in a soft, low baritone he crooned, …an’ it took me back to somethin’ that I lost somehow, somewhere along the way…

“What’d she lose, Daddy?”

“Well…I reckon she figgered she’d lost her health, an’ she prob’ly knew she was gonna be losin’ us, too.”

“She never lost me, that’s sure!” the boy declared fiercely.  “I still love her like she was still here!”

“Me, too,” his father said, feeling his throat close up.  “Me, too!”

“What other words did you sing to her?” the boy asked.

“Well, there was a part of that song she said reminded her of a poem she read in school, ‘bout how at funerals there’s a bell that tolls for the deeparted.  She said when you’re gettin’ ready to cross over for the last time, that bell is gonna be tollin’ for you.  An’ I reckon part of the song reminded her of that.  Made her feel peaceful, I s’pose.”

“What’s that mean, tollin’?”

“Means the bell is ringin’ to welcome you home to glory, I reckon,” the man said, ruffling the boy’s curly hair.

“You gonna sing that part?”

Clearing his throat once again, the man sang, …I headed back for home an’ somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin’, an’ it echoed through the canyons like the disappearin’ dreams of yesterday… 

His voice broke on the last word.

“My dreams ‘bout Mama ain’t disappearin’, Daddy,” the boy said, worried he’d made his father weep.  “I dream ‘bout her near ever’ night.  She’s gone, but it’s like she’s still here, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know, son.  I know.”

“So, is that your favourite song, too, Daddy?  The one Mama liked?”

“Prob’ly my second favourite,” the man replied.  “The one I like best was written by that same boy, though.”

“You gonna sing that one?”

Hugging his son tight, the man said, “Well, I reckon I could give ‘er a try, if’n you want.”  A faraway look crept into his eyes as he cleared his throat yet again, and a single tear rolled down his whiskered cheek—a tear he firmly brushed away with a callused hand.

And in the same soft voice, he began, Lovin’ her was easier than anythin’ I’ll ever do again…

When the last words of the song died away, the little boy snuggled even closer.  “Know what, Daddy?  I was wrong as could be ‘bout you.  You can sing!”

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2023}

_{Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down – 1969}

_{Lovin’ Her Was Easier – 1971}

_{– Kris Kristofferson (b. 1936)}