A few months after losing my mother, I sat alone at waiting for a Greg Laswell concert to begin. I was reading a book and listening to two old men behind me discuss how Guinness beer is overrated or maybe it just tastes better in Ireland. Then, a girl also reading a book one seat away from me asked me what I was reading, and I remembered what it felt to be noticed.

 

Halfway through the concert, Greg Laswell said that the next song was about his father who died a year ago from Alzheimers. He said he was sad for a very long time, and that the pain probably won't ever be alleviated. He apologized if he began crying while singing the song, and what I remember him saying was that "the greatest sadness each person has felt is equal to another person's greatest sadness, because each is the highest form of sadness that they have experienced."

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And he proceeded to sing "Supermoon," a new song of his I barely listened to but one that instantly started ringing between my ears. The image of the moon conjured memories of my mother who always told us "I love you to the moon...and back."

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One of the last texts she sent us was "I love you to the moon...and back."

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And so the moonlight both haunts and hugs me. And I hope, under the same moon, we can find comfort on the Earth while we're still here.