Musical Musing: Jonathan Coulton “When You Go”

Jonathan Coulton “When You Go”

Only a moment ago we had nothing but time
Everything lasted forever and you were all mine
Only a dream I know
Thinking you’d never go
Tearing off pieces of myself
Just for the time it buys me

Fold my heart up small
Or break it into pieces
Find somewhere and keep it there
Take it when you go

There in the frame of your face, in the cast of your eyes
I saw this coming but still I am caught by surprise
All of this time I knew
That I’d be losing you
That doesn’t mean that it’s OK
That doesn’t mean I’m ready

Fold my heart up small
Or break it into pieces
Find somewhere and keep it there
Take it when you go

Some things you always remember, some things you forget
No way to make it up now, no room for regret
That’s no good for anyone
And so I come undone
Now I am less than what I was
Whatever’s left is yours now

So fold my heart up small
Or break it into pieces
Find somewhere and keep it there
Take it when you go

Love is a stunningly risky endeavor. It’s dangerous out there. How do you know that the one you love will return your affections? Or will they love you the way you love them? If they love you the way you love them, how long do you have with them? You could wake up tomorrow and find that you’ve lost them in the night. You could lose them to a car accident or tragic illness. You may have fifty years, you may have fifty minutes… but how do you risk your heart on such a gamble? How do you risk loving another person knowing you will lose them? Do you hold some piece of yourself back? Would you ask the same of them?

Or do you finally decide that a life alone isn’t worth the pain of loneliness? Do you finally decide that the risk of heartbreaking loss is worth the gain of pouring yourself out in love for another person? Do you finally make the leap of faith with another person, trusting that exhilaration of really sharing your life with another human being, the companionship, and even the hard work of making relationships work over the long haul are well worth the risk of the pain of the landing at the end?

“When You Go” discusses the pain of that landing… what happens when you get to the end of a relationship? It’s a heartbreaking examination of someone having to let go of the one they’ve loved. It is, Jonathan Coulton admits, one of the saddest songs in his repertoire. It brings me to tears, reminding me of the losses I’ve had in my life… of friends I’ve said goodbye to, of pets I’ve lost, the grandparents and great-grandparents I lost over the years… of the sweet Daddy I buried when I was 17.

And yet, it occurs to me, this is the inherent risk of love, isn’t it? The nature of loving someone is that you pour yourself out for them. You hope that they do the same, but love can’t demand the return… only hope. You pour yourself into the life of your beloved, and if you’re lucky, they return the favor. And while you’re together, while the relationship survives, you’re both better for it. You fill each other, making the other stronger where they are weak, they making you strong in your weaknesses. You are more together than you ever were by yourselves… that the two together make a greater whole than the sum of the parts.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much to see relationships end. You haven’t just lost the sum of your parts… you’ve lost those bits that made you so much more than you were by yourself. Maybe that’s what Coulton means when he says that he’s less than what he was… that he’s lost not only what he was by himself, but he’s lost the greater whole he was when he was in relationship.

So we’re back to the original question: is the answer to hold yourself aloof and separate, to never take the flying leap into relationship, to never risk this loss that leaves us less than we were before? Ultimately, only you can answer for yourself, but I can’t see how you’d exist that way.

You see, the pain of loss and grief is powerful, but the beauty of relationships is that none of them exist in a vacuum… so when you lose one, others serve to step in and carry the burden of loss with you. The pastor who married me and John said this of love: “Joy multiplies love and divides sorrows.” It’s an idea I’ve carried with me ever since, an idea I apply to all of my relationships, not just my marriage. Do I, as a friend, serve to increase the joys of my friends, do I help bear the sorrows and thus divide the burden? Am I loving them in a way that demonstrates itself tangibly to them in their lives?

When I lost my father, the heartbreak that came with that loss was nearly enough to shatter me. It’s not a loss that kids are supposed to bear. It was harder; I’d held myself apart from him for a long time, convinced that the distance between us was my fault, that my sister was his favorite, and I was just the “other daughter”, tolerated because I was. I’d only begun to see the truth of who my father was, to understand how much he loved me, how much he understood me, how much my father wanted to reach out to me, how hard he’d been trying my entire life… and just as I understood all he had to offer me, I lost him forever.

My adoptive parents stepped in to love me, knowing they couldn’t take his place, but knowing they could love me through that impossible first year of loss and beyond. My grandfather stepped in, even in his raw hurt as he buried his son, to take care of me, to be for me what his son had been. My teachers stepped in, giving me encouragement and support… the relationships I had around me all stepped in to help soften the blow of the heart-shattering impact of losing the loss of this one.

Even today, when the days come and I miss my Daddy so intensely that I cry for him like I did in those first days, my husband, who never met his father in law, comforts me. My friends, who have only pictures of the man and my stories to know him by, hug me. Even today, relationships serve to help me pick myself up, dust myself off, and go forward again.

Yes, there have been other heartbreaks in my life. There will be more… there are days when I realize I will lose the people I love most, days I think of the fact that I must someday say goodbye to the relationships I hold most dear to me… and even thinking ahead to some of them didn’t ease the impact of them. But none of that stops me. The rewards of loving someone, the rewards of relationship are well worth the pain of loss. Because after all, what are we grieving except the things we won’t have any more? After the sorrow of grieving comes the joy of the life we shared… like going berry picking with my Daddy. Or when he found me trying to toast my bread after I buttered it. Or the way he told me how he understood me when it felt like no one else did…

Life can’t be lived in isolation. We were meant for relationships. It’s why, when we’re in relationships, the whole is greater than the sum of it’s parts. And it comes from the little things… the memories you make together. It’s the way I played with my cat, the way he laid with his big white belly showing so I could rub his tummy. It’s my Grammy meeting me every morning with a glass of juice or chocolate milk as I woke up. It’s playing my husband’s favorite songs while we go on a road trip. All those little things add together over time… and it’s all of those things that make the landing worth it.

So I’m willing to give my heart away and let you take it with you when you go. Because I’d rather let my heart go now and gain the joys to remember, even if they do cost me my heart. Bring on the leap of faith. Let’s go over the cliff together… the landing may well be a doozy, but the ride is so worth it!