Yes, I was the wallflower in high school. The girl with so much to say, but whom was much too shy to say it.
I was the one who found pleasure writing poetry into the wee hours of the morning, who found sustenance in reading a thick book, who was very content with only a few close friends in her intimate life, was incredibly awful at sports, and more than likely the only sixteen year old girl at her school with a subwoofer in the trunk of her car because music has moved her since a very young age. Yes, I was THAT girl.
One thing I always told my intellectual mind I would do someday, was to pass my love of music onto my children. From a very early age I exposed them to great classics throughout the years. From Michael Jackson to The Beatles. From Def Leppard to Boston. From Mozart to Frank Sinatra. All of it.
Four years ago my eldest boys, who are now fourteen, found refuge in music during a period of insurmountable grief in their young little lives. Leukemia crept into the life of their very best friend. In four short months, we swallowed a hard diagnosis, we fought a raging battle, but he was still stolen from this world much too soon.
To explain the ugly diagnosis of such a terrible disease to a ten year old child is heartbreaking as a parent. It was gut-wrenching when we had to follow up such a short time later with the news of his death. The emptiness in my children’s eyes was enough for me to realize how fleeting life is. A gift. I had to teach them how to survive through sorrow.
During a six month time period that followed, my boys’ immersed themselves deep into music to cope, to find meaning in the feelings they felt. A number of artists rose to the tops of their lists, eventually finding their way onto our music playlists online and in the car. As a family, it became a bandage for the wound we all felt as we dealt with such unexpected loss.
I never thought my children would eventually teach ME about music though, to be quite honest. That through the love I instilled in them, they would show me love back through various new artists, new genres, and new sounds, not by force, but by a permeating passion.
To find the encumbering world of melodies through the ears of your children is quite amazing for a parent. For me, it is sincere and irreplaceable. Four years ago, they brought this to light, and I’ve never looked back.
The Glitch Mob. My oldest child. This was his outlet to cope, believe, and find meaning in everyday life after his friend’s death. The very first song I ever heard of theirs was “Animus Vox”. The playlist grew rapidly. Amazing talent. Enough said.
Four years later, they are more than just another EDM group. They are a group of very talented young men whom we truly look up to. Respect.
I don’t need to tell you that there are plenty of music artists who feel “entitled” to be in Hollywood. That they are better than their peers, that their fans are just that…fans. Nothing more. Nothing less. They exist because they deserve to exist. The Glitch Mob is the absolute opposite of this.
When I started writing books a few years ago, I was always asked what author I compared myself to. My answer was always, “No one. I don’t want to be like anyone else. I just want to write because it’s in my blood. I want to be me.”
March 24th, 2014 proved that for me in more than one way. I had a pair of tickets in my hand to take my oldest child to see The Glitch Mob at The House of Blues in Dallas that night. Over coffee that morning, computer screen blaring bright, my tired eyes fuzzy, I wrote a blog post. A post that came from my heart, not from my mind.
As my father always told me, “You are great at following your instinct over intellect, Val.” That doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent…unless it comes to Algebra…gag me with a spoon…but I do trust my gut over what my mind often terrorizes me with.
I had a lot to say to The Glitch Mob that morning. Although I live in a humorous, homeschooling world that is often filled with crazy schedules and moments of sheer insanity that result in a glass of red wine at the end of the day, locked in the bathroom to unwind in the quiet for just five freakin’ minutes, the truth is, there was SO much more to that post that I didn’t share. Until now.
So here I sit. A grateful mother with an overflowing heart of gratitude to three guys I’ve met only once, but feel like I’ve known for a lifetime. A mother who can truly say their music played a huge role in her oldest son learning to believe in life again, when death wove its way into his young heart filling it with bitterness and a thousand questions of “why?”.
As I watched my children emerge from the darkness, so did I. Music can heal. It can bring meaning to life in a million different ways. No one hears the same song. Everyone interprets music differently. That’s the beauty of it. Am I right? Whether you write it or you listen to it, it has the absolute power to push you forward.
The greatness of such is knowing that the songs that pulled your son to his feet, head forward, eyes to the sky were created by a group you might not otherwise know about. My son taught me that music doesn’t just exist to please. It exists to instill hope. After years of loving music for simply being music, The Glitch Mob changed my way of thinking. They’ve taught me it can can change your life.
To be a #GlitchMom is truly an honor. I know there are other Glitch Moms in the world. Whether you introduced your child to their music, or they introduced you, your status awaits. Take it and run.
#GlitchMoms Unite ~