Loss
- jesskaps
- Sep 3, 2025
- 19 min read
Monday, September 01, 2025 @ 15:55 MDT / 17:55 EDT
“Let me tell you what I wish I'd known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control:
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”
— Hamilton: An American Musical (soundtrack)
Nothing here is permanent. The ocean tides rise and fall; waves crash, cleansing the sand of its artwork, naturally occurring and humanmade, daily.
We hear this often enough and yet most of us are not really living as though this were true.
We think we have time. We think we have forever. We can do this and that with these and those people and here or there another time. “Later.”
The harsh reality is— there is no other time. Now is the time.
At an open mic night recently, a dynamic and engaging performance by a trio alluded to a similar message, yet still I think and see and feel it differently.
I do not believe the present is “all there is” and “all that matters” (cue— “wait, wut? did you not just say this? I’m confused…”).
The issue is more that “time” is a construct to help us organize and make sense of space and the universe as well as our own trivial earthly existence. Most of you reading this right now are also probably American (I’m guessing; my writing is not world renowned…yet), and culturally we have our own view of “time” which differs from that in other parts of the world.
Consider: when we look to the stars at night we are viewing the “past” in our present timeline. But if an extraterrestrial being on some far away planet were looking to us right now, are they not in their “present” looking towards some past version of our earth? What are they seeing (if they have technology to see it)? Early hominins? Plants? Dinosaurs? A planet of molten rock inhospitable to any type of life? Or perhaps “earth” does not even exist yet. Does that make those of us alive now actually the “future”?
The Malagasy people of Madagascar believe that it is as if the future is coming from behind — not the past — and flowing through us, already existing yet completely unable to be known, until we experience it as present and then see it in front of us as past (Dahl, Ø.). Once in front of us, the past is something we can see and know and understand, and the Malagasy are encouraged to interact with their past in their present lives, learn from it, and even play with it (Lewis, R.D.).
The future, behind us, is completely unknowable.
In this sense it’s almost as if “time” is moving “backwards” (from our western perspective) or we are moving backward through time while facing forward. Other cultures view the future as at least partially knowable, influenced by human planning and predictions based on the present and past. Humans have the ability to almost make the future happen, or at least minimize the possibility of unknown outcomes.
“The Malagasy imagine the future as flowing into the back of their heads, or passing them from behind, then becoming the past as it stretches out in front of them” (Lewis, R.D.).
In Madagascar, there is no schedule for a bus to leave. The bus leaves when it is filled with passengers, a needs-based approach. “The situation triggers the event” (Lewis, R.D.).
Other cultures have a cyclical view of time, but still view the future as in front of them, influenced by our own actions and understanding.
For the Malagasy, the future has already happened, and it is passing through us to inform us in our present and then we see it and know it as past.
Personally, I tend to believe that all timelines are happening all at once. Past, present, future all are one. Different versions of ourselves and ancestors. I find that understanding and interacting with one’s “past” is essential to grappling with the present, and this can and will inform our future.
In my graduate studies, we learned about the “repetition compulsion,” and how without fully studying and recognizing one’s past patterns, history, and trauma, we are essentially doomed to repeat the same patterns over and over and over again within our own lives. Encounter the same problems. Date the same people. Engage in similar arguments. Same gift in slightly different packaging.
This is also true of world history, not just our individual personal history. “History repeats itself” or “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (Santayana, G.). Are we not bearing witness to this right now with world events? Consider: is this perhaps truly the past disguised as present and future? Altered packaging.
When I ponder these ideas for too long, my brain hurts. Like thinking about black holes in space and spaghettification (only the best word)— which is also connected to our understanding (or lacktherof) of “time.” An observer would view something or someone falling into a black hole as essentially frozen in time, having never reached the event horizon. While if you are the one falling through, you would become spaghettified rather quickly and time would appear to speed up. (You also would not be alive but ya know…). How? How can both items be true?
So I boil it down to this: I like to measure “time” in things knowable to me, not the rotations of the earth nor its revolutions around the sun. Because when I think of those things, my (undiagnosed but very real) OCD tendencies kick in and I just become fixated on the numbers— which is not necessarily a bad thing but occasionally can become problematic and take over my thought process.
I have an affinity with numbers. I believe different numbers emit energies, positive or negative, and I have a compulsion to attract only numbers with good energy into my life, as often as I can. Whether it comes to choosing a seat number on a plane, a new housing or apartment situation, zip codes, area codes, phone numbers, my total amount charged at the supermarket or gas station, number of steps I am walking up or down, time signatures, beats per minute, dates and months and years… I notice and care about the numbers, and will sometimes make intentional adjustments for positive energy alignment. Pump a little extra gas so that my total cost will land on a palindrome. Walk an extra step or two to land on an even number. Plan an event on a specific day. Attract that peak positive energy into my life.
This fixation with numbers is something I associate with my identity, while I acknowledge it can be problematic. At times. Which times? I suppose when it hijacks my entire thought process and hinders my ability just to experience life. Something along those lines.
What is real for me is experiences. Interactions with nature, people, places, and things. Educational environments that encourage me to become better— a more empathic human in addition to more knowledgeable, while simultaneously recognizing that nothing is truly “knowable.” Seeking wisdom; the essence is in the seeking. The journey. “Process over product” as I noted in my previous post. The answers matter not. I tend to find the more answers I receive and the more that things become known, the more questions I have. Curiosity. Keep asking questions.
In years past, I happened across (or perhaps was sent by a friend?) a blog post from “Wait But Why” by the author Tim Urban, titled “The Tail End.”
After reading the aforementioned post, I began to rethink considerably the idea that I can do things “later,” and there will always be “time.” When you measure “time” in visible charts, finite activities and events, and meetups with the people you love— you realize there really is not a ton of time.
If I optimistically live to be 90, I will experience 49 more autumns in my lifetime. If I read an average of 3-8 books per year, that means I have approximately 245 books left to read (which is honestly wishful thinking as I am quite a slow reader). If I treat myself to one fun coffee, caffeinated beverage, or latte per week (I try to make my own at home now as often as I can, especially with mushroom coffee), I have about 2,548 cups of specialty coffee left to drink in my entire lifetime.
Most strikingly are the relationship figures. If I see my family an average of 5-10 days per year and I continue to live in El Paso, how many days left to spend with family am I looking at? My parents might hopefully live another ten years. So we are talking 50-100 more days in my lifetime that I would have to spend with my parents. Total. About 260-520 more days to spend with my brother and sister-in-law. And 435-900 days left to spend with my niece and nephew. And what of my extended family? Aunts, uncles, cousins? How many days left do I have to spend with each of them?
If my cat lives to be 18 years old, I will have approximately 1780 days left to spend with her.
And my clients. How many more days, hours really, of addressing therapeutic goals through music do I have left with my terrific clients? People who perhaps have taught me more than I could ever teach them? Who encourage me to laugh and sing and dance and create music together, reminding me that life is both short and beautiful? People who give each session their all even when they are not feeling their best?
In my almost five years of working as a full time music therapist here in El Paso, I have lost a number of clients. “Lost” in various ways, typically through unexpected and abrupt terminations for various reasons. Also, death. Four of my clients or former clients have passed on while I have been here. Each loss has been unexpected, and I was not ready for it. I thought I would have more time.
The first client who passed died of complications due to COVID-19, in my first year or two here. She was vibrant and confident, loved singing primarily to Spanish-language music, including Jenni Rivera, Selena, and Alejandra Guzmán. Also Bryan Adams, in honor of her father. My last session with her before she died I look back on with shame and sadness. I was not fully present. I was having a rough week, and I allowed my exhaustion and stress to overtake my mind and body during her session. When I was informed of her death, I wished that I had been more focused, and able to provide her with the support she deserved and needed in that last session. How was I to know that session would be our last?
In coping with her death, I noted that one mediocre session did not negate all the wonderful sessions we had together. Where she would discuss her opinions about her favorite songs, we would analyze the lyrics, she would tell me stories about the musicians and how much she admired them, and then she would belt out the songs using her full voice and body— powerful, strong, self-assured, and confident. She would play piano with a similar confidence, improvising melodies and singing over them with words that came to her in the moment. She would discuss relationships, dating, family, and her pets — she had multiple cats — and how grateful she felt to be who she was. I look back on our time together fondly, and I learned a lot of new music from her and tremendously admired her way of using music to enhance her confidence and connect with others in her life.
Flash forward to this year, 2025, and I have experienced the loss of three more clients this year alone— one of my current clients and two former clients. In February I experienced my most difficult and devastating loss with a client I have known since I began working here in September, through Zoom sessions while I was still living in Massachusetts. I remember the previous music therapist telling me that she was special, and at that time I did not know what that meant— I mean everyone is special! We are all unique in our own ways. But as I began working with her, I slowly understood.
An avid reader, this young woman read more than 50 books per year! I struggle to read 5-10 books annually, though I do have a slow processing speed and I still think it is highly likely I have undiagnosed dyslexia (like many of my conditions that have gone under the radar due to me being “smart” and excused as “she’s just meticulous” and “she’ll grow out of this”).
I was constantly in awe of this client’s creativity, humor, intelligence, determination, dedication, love of music, connection and compassion for others and particularly with her family, and zeal for life. She was honest about her areas of struggle but she fought to keep going, to make her life better for herself and wanted to make her life better for her family as well. She had so much love for her nephew; she spoke of him so often. I am sure he knew he was quite loved. She adored her three dogs and talked often about her beloved dog who she lost too soon unexpectedly. She loved Gilmore Girls. She experienced so much love and loss in her life, and was surrounded by family and people who cared for her and she cared about. She lived her life so selflessly in so many ways, and yet also wanted to live as independently as she could given her disability.
I reflect back on how she invited me to her graduation, and I did not go. I had other clients to see that day, but perhaps I could have made accommodations because her graduating college was an incredibly huge milestone. It took her years to complete her degree and so much hard work and sacrifice, plus judgment she received as a disabled woman; she used to talk to me about the things some people in her classes would say. She also had lots of friends, support, and was admired and respected by many teachers for her intelligence and dedication. I wish I had gone in retrospect. I hope she felt supported by me. She showed me pictures afterwards… she was so happy. Photos with family and friends. I could have been part of those photos.
I often think about all of these clients I have worked with in five years, and I have no photographic evidence. As a school music therapist, I had tons of photos with my students. We took photos almost daily, but certainly at least at special events like birthday parties, graduations, end of the year celebrations, speech therapy cooking classes, the annual spring music concerts, and during summer school. There was always something to celebrate!
When I learned of this client’s passing, I coincidentally already had taken the day off work before I knew. My body requires at least a day or two of rest every month due to the nature of my monthly cycle— this includes anything and everything from the severe pain— extreme stomach cramps/menstrual pain, nausea, vomiting, migraine, excessive bleeding that a pad or tampon cannot control, and diarrhea. But hey. Doctors tell me this is all “normal” and that endometriosis cannot be diagnosed. This is our capitalist, male-centered Western medical model. I am always grateful when the worst days of my period happen to fall on a weekend, and I can just sleep for two days straight, cold cloth on my forehead, heating pad on my stomach, getting up only to use the bathroom when I need to, not even to eat really, the pain is so excruciating. Until significant advances in women’s healthcare, I can anticipate more of the same for at least several more years, longing for weekends and taking unpaid days off to deal with cramps and nausea and migraines and uncontrollable bowel movements.
So yeah, I was already feeling quite miserable, in bed with a migraine, sick and nauseous with a cold cloth over my forehead and heading pad on my tummy asleep when I noticed the phone ring and it was my boss. I was surprised he would call me on my personal day knowing I was not feeling well, so I knew it must be important. I picked up the phone and when he informed me of her death I had an immediate out of body experience where I was watching my own life. Detached. No, no, no. I kept saying no.
This could not be happening because… She had only just turned 30. I had not seen her in a few weeks. She was not feeling well. She messaged me just the other day how she was finally finally finally feeling better and would see me next time! She would see me later this week. I was really excited to see her this week. She just got her new “fancy grandma glasses” she could not wait to show me. I finally printed out some of the pages for her music autobiography project, of songs and lyrics that were important to her and Billie Eilish coloring pages. She loved Billie Eilish. I was so looking forward to our next session to show her and thankfully I let her know that. She was excited too. Her death shook me. It still does.
This client introduced me to so much music in our sessions early on as we were just building rapport, music that was meaningful to her in such a deep and profound way, the way she understood and would discuss music, the lyrics, the videos, the performances, the costumes, and the artists themselves whom she loved. How they would evolve over time and how much she respected how their art reflected their different periods of growth. Because of my own personal interest in many of these artists as well as wanting to know my client better, this even informed my work as a music therapist with my other clients. I have used many of these songs in my work in various ways over the last five years.
As closure, I created the music autobiography project for her. And I gave it to her family at her memorial services because I believe she would want them to have it. In the strangest way, the songs she chose felt like telling the story of her life; they encapsulated her memory so completely and beautifully. It is almost as if she knew.
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Since losing this client in February, I have lost two more former clients, both of whom impacted my life in various ways through our sessions. One client was a Deaf adult who taught me so much about joy and kindness towards others, hard work and dedication, and how to experience music even when we cannot hear it. He loved playing piano. In my first year I moved here, he and his family made sure to note my birthday in advance and when I had a music therapy session with them that day— they wished me Happy Birthday with party hats and streamers and party horns. I will never forget how welcome and included he and his family made me feel in my first year in El Paso.
Another client who passed was an adult woman, and our sessions were often more laid back and relaxed. We did more receptive interventions including drawing to music or lyric analysis, which often involved listening to music centering around this client’s favorite TV shows. She could be so indecisive, but her personality always shined when she would talk about her family. She loved her family so much. She also loved the Dallas Cowboys, and so many musicians, especially from the 90s. One of her favorite songs was “Under the Bridge” by Red Hot Chili Peppers. The first time I saw her room, it was like a snapshot in time of a teenage bedroom in the 90s/ early 2000s, and I kind of loved that for her. Posters of Eminem, Aaliyah, Kelly Clarkson, Shakira, and Selena covered her room. A photo of her beloved dog who passed away who she occasionally discussed. A ukulele on the wall. Dallas Cowboys paraphernalia.
My favorite sessions with this client included when her family from out of state came to visit and we all partook in creating song parodies/ Music Mad Libs together. The joy on her face at being able to spend this quality time with her family was so palpable. Another favorite session was when she requested to learn chords to the song “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks on Garage Band. She chose electric guitar and I set up the chords and she would follow along based on the Ultimate Guitar lead sheet chord chart. I would accompany her on acoustic guitar and we’d sing together. It was an empowering experience for her filled with 90s nostalgia— and for me as well!
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I kind of thought the worst of my losses was behind me (or in front of me), as least for now. But as I awoke this morning (for the second time— I woke up early and then fell back asleep), I reached for my phone to read a text message from a friend regarding the death of one of our friends from school. One of my closest friends. My first real friend from college. Martha.
In a lot of ways, Martha was the best of us, and I say this because she was so hopeful, genuine, full of life and love and positive energy, and gave with her whole heart. You could always count on her to cheer you up and also for her honesty— sometimes when it was not exactly what you wanted to hear or perhaps not the socially appropriate thing to say or do in a situation; however, I tend to associate myself with people who each of us in our own weird ways do not always adhere to social customs so there is that. 🙃
I remember the beginning of my freshman year of college when I was not comfortable going out drinking and I would spend my weekends alone in my dorm, practicing guitar or listening to music or watching movies or SNL, and one day I had my door open and Martha stumbled in. “You like SNL too!? You don’t drink either!?” And I cheered so loud and we both held hands and jumped up and down “AHHH!!” as if we found our friend soulmate! That moment was bliss.
I will always be grateful to Martha for including me in everything that was important to her— or at least making me feel included knowing that I was invited. I like to think I eventually would have joined Liturgical Choir on my own, but truth be told it was Martha who “dragged” me down aka informed me she was already involved and encouraged me to go. Her incentive: “There are some CUUUUUTE boys in choir!” Then I joined and thought to myself literally only one of these boys is cute and he quickly became my crush/obsession for the next 4-5 years but ultimately after that one of my bestest of best friends and I do not know what I would do without him in my life.
Martha also introduced me to my future college roommate aka another one of my closest friends whose wedding I would attend years later!
Martha generously invited our friend group to spend time on the Cape with her family, and whenever her family came to visit in college we would either go out to eat together or they would make meals for us in our college apartments and we would gather together to celebrate and connect and laugh.
Martha always loved to remind me that she is the FIRST person who told me about music therapy— technically this is true, although I had no idea what that even meant at the time, and I did not research it further or take it seriously until my psychology advisor mentioned it to me years later as a potential area of study after undergrad. But props, Martha. You are correct. 😉
When I attended Martha’s wedding, I was allowed to invite a guest but it was a Catholic wedding and at the time I was in a serious relationship with my first girlfriend and I only told selected people. Knowing it was a Catholic ceremony I did not even want to approach the subject or ask if it was ok to invite her and amazingly my partner was very understanding at the time. So she was there with me at the hotel and while I got ready and between events but sadly did not attend the ceremony nor the celebration with me. Years later, I told Martha about all of this and she was incredibly empathic and supportive which I appreciated with all my heart, and felt hugely relieved that we shared this honest and vulnerable moment together. She knew who I was and accepted me.
I had not seen Martha in person in the five years since I’ve moved to El Paso. I struggle to remember the last time. **checks photo memories on phone** It looks like September 14, 2019. I took a drive to Maine to visit with both Martha and her family and my friend Rachel and her family. Must have been a weekend since my work year had already begun. I remember how nice it was to see the children of my friends and how they are ever-growing into these little human beans, with their own thoughts and feelings and interests. And my friends. Imagine creating and raising a little being. A mini you but different.
We discussed a future time I would visit but I guess that time was never to be. Our recent years since I have moved to El Paso, our calls and texts have been consumed with real life shit in between the happy birthdays and holiday messages and occasional inside joke or meme message. Her daughter’s cancer and treatment and recovery only to be followed by her own cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy and hair and eyebrow loss and wigs and pain and medicine and then my stalking situation and break-ins with my home and car and tracking devices and loss of friendships from people who never truly cared or being forced to cut ties with friends I deeply cared about due to misinformation and need to protect my own safety.
The last message exchange we had was when our friend Sarah and her kids came to visit. Martha was so excited to see Sarah and spend time with her and the bonding time Monica enjoyed with Sarah’s oldest. It was great to see Martha in such good spirits.
We also exchanged some memes via Instagram regarding Harry Potter and Hermione and the SNL Oprah sketch. Despite everything happening in her life, Martha always took the time to think of others. She was so thoughtful and kind, and loved and cared for her family and friends dearly. I will miss her tremendously and am devastated I never got to see her in person at least one more time since my move to EP.
I hope Monica grows up knowing that she had a mother who loved her so very much, and her memory will live on within her— whether she realizes it or not. I am glad to know that Monica, Chris, and Martha spent so much cherished family time together always and certainly in these last few years— whether it was home cooked family dinners or Girl Scout events or times on the Cape or France or the Make a Wish events or Universal Orlando or Disney World.
Martha, you made a difference in this world to so many people. To your friends in college like me and to other friends you’ve had over the years. To the people in your community. To your clients. To your parents and to your extended family. And most importantly, to your daughter, Monica and to your husband, Chris. I share your story to process and remember you myself and also so that you will not be forgotten. So that others who knew you can read and recall your memory together. So that your memory may live on through the words on this page.
I feel grateful to have met and known you, and shared in so many wonderful memories together and had so much support from you over the years. Thank you for extrovertedly wandering into my dorm room that Saturday night in the fall of freshman year. Goodness knows I never would have done the same given my social awkwardness. Thank you for pulling me out of my introversion, for your patience, for our endless laughs and for the faces, and thank you for simply being you. I will think of you every time I watch our one-year annual tradition of Elf or while watching SNL reruns or at church (particularly while singing certain songs) and of course on Good Friday. And I was wondering… do I still owe you five dollars? ♥️
“Will they tell your story?
Who lives, who dies
Who tells your story?”
✨📖✨
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