"Go up to your room, find all the songs that remind you of him, throw the CD's in the stereo. Lay on your bed, turn the music on, and play those songs over and over and over, until they don't mean anything to you anymore."
He told me that it could take a few days, maybe a few weeks, but I was to get up there, and get the crying over with, and get all the pain out.
I did what I was told, and in a few days, those songs didn't make me cry. I was still hurting, but I felt like I had released a good chunk of sadness and pity from my body and my soul, and getting through the day, did become easier. Those songs were suddenly just music to me, no longer great works of art that spoke for me, said what I wanted to say, what I could not put into words.
This past week, Mr. Grand's advice came back to me, as I was sitting on a friend's couch, crying my eyes out about my most recent botched relationship, while we drank beer and listened to music.
My friend asked if I wanted to make a break-up disc, and proceeded to let me go through the thousands of songs, until I found the perfect combination.
I went home, popped it in the stereo and let the tears flow. That mix of music has come with me everywhere this week. In the car, in my mp3 player, on the house stereo, those songs have not left my side. I have let out bursts of tears while stuck in rush hour traffic, at the gas station, in the kitchen, at work, and while sitting in the Dairy Queen drive-thru.
But, I'm feeling a bit better. My tears are not continuously flowing, and if I am not paying attention, these songs just play through as background music to my life.
So thank you for your advice, Mr. Grand, and if you ever come back to town, remind me that I still owe you some beer from all those years ago on the Embassy deck.