It’s mid-November and yellow ginkgo leaves litter the sidewalks in gradients, solid and formless to sparse and brightly defined. I like them better than the dead-but-not-crunchy brown leaves from trees I don’t recognize. Those spread more dramatically, crinkling around the edges and blowing one by one across the concrete, or pooling in potholes and curb crevices. In the last three months I lost a job, an apartment, and a parent. Leaning into the cliche: the only constant is change.
Nearly a month later, the ginkgo have dispersed or died leaving the ground bare.
Last night we got back from Florida, a 48-hour jaunt filled with family visits, grief-induced anxiety, and sun. Our already-late flight was a tad delayed, and at midnight we piled into a cab for an hour-long trudge in pouring rain.
Today I stood on train platforms for a cumulative half hour, raw December air blistering my face. Queens looks more gray than it did in the fall–the whole city does. Across four trains, I started crying a dozen times. Famously, the MTA is the best place to cry. On the first LIRR train I worried about my sister, on the second I thought about my dad, and on both subway lines I cried over my mom.
Tomorrow marks three months since she died. Thankfully, she went without pain–“she just didn’t wake up,” my dad said on the phone. Amid the profound sadness, I felt an immediate and startling relief: she wasn’t in pain, and I no longer had to watch her disappear before me. None of us did.
I remember that day and the days that followed with starling clarity. (I’m curious if or when that will fade.) I got my period that day, and my cycle has come with bizarre punctuality since then. In the immediate aftermath, it’s a frustrating reminder. Wouldn’t it be nicer to spurt a happy memory, or some faithful tradition every month? Instead I’m left to take care of myself as my mom taught me—hormones, cramps, and all–except she’s not there to hold my hand and watch rom-coms. She can’t tell me to eat the biggest hamburger or have extra dark chocolate or cry whenever the urge hits. It’s been so long since she was able to say any of that, I can hardly hear her helping me in my head. For the first time in seven years, I’m only worried about my memory and not hers.
The last few months–although probably longer–I’ve wavered naively between childhood and adulthood, wishing to live with my mom at my own apartment; to walk around Brooklyn holding her hand and asking why some of the ginkgo leaves turned green as they aged, and what her favorite flowers are, and who she was when she was my age.
On the train recently I re-upped my selection of depression music with a playlist called “cold and sad.” Here it is:
Red House Painters, “Katy Song” (1993)
Eight and a half minutes of melancholy men with guitars.
Julia Jacklin, “to Perth, before the border closes” (2020)
The opening lyric “I loved it there/That city held me” speaks to a kind of nostalgia with which I’ve become familiar. Plus, few people can wail more beautifully than Julia Jacklin.
Flume and Panda Bear, “One Step Closer 1.4 [2021 Export Wav]” (2023)
This song came to me via Spotify algorithm, a deep cut off an outtakes album by Flume. It’s here for the vibes.
Panda Bear, “Lonely Wanderer” (2015)
Can you tell Panda Bear was my top artist of the year? “Lonely Wanderer” feels like a sister track to the devastating “Tropic of Cancer,” both off of the album Panda Bear Meets The Grim Reaper. It samples classical piece “Arabesque 1” by François-Joël Thiollier, fittingly obscure, meandering and tinged with darkness.
Dave Bixby, “Morning Sun” (1969)
I cannot count how many times I’ve listened to “Morning Sun” since my mom died. Its lyrics detail nature and love with such irresistible warmth. The album it’s on, Ode To Quetzalcoatl, was actually recorded while Bixby was in an LSD-fueled religious cult. Can’t endorse that, but love the song…
Thievery Corporation, “Sweet Tides” (2008)
My mom had these bright hazel eyes that I can see when I hear this song’s chorus.
Way Out West, “Don’t Forget Me” (2004)
A treasure from the early-seasons Grey’s Anatomy soundtrack, I think when Meredith sorta drowns. Weird, computer-harmony-laden, heart-wrenching song.
Roy Orbison, “Crying” (1962)
This one is kinda literal.
Fionn Regan, “Dogwood Blossom” (2011)
Ruinously sad Irish song featured in ruinously sad Irish series Normal People. Another track driven by nature metaphors in its lyrics.
Phosphorescent, “Song for Zula” (2013)
Cinematic strings and wailing vocals make “Song for Zula” unmistakable.
Justin Vernon, “hazelton” (2023)
Bon Iver frontman Justin Vernon released “hazelton” as part of a surprise double single earlier this year (I’m pretty sure I wrote about it for work). It’s a demo that reads as the predecessor to “Holocene,” a Bon Iver track I’ve loved for a decade now. “hazelton” is folksier and features less of Justin’s distinctive falsetto, allowing the lyrics to shine–lyrics like “You came, you saw/You sawed her brain/You cut out all the parts that held your stain.”
Graham Nash, “Better Days” (1971)
Good ol’ folk-rock classic, a rare solo Graham Nash favorite of mine.
Crash Test Dummies, “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm” (1993)
Once you accept the Canadian baritone goofiness, this is a heart-melting song with rich harmony and a deeply feeling chorus.
Pretenders, “Kid - Live” (1995)
This version of “Kid” was featured in 17 Again (beloved comedy starring Matthew Perry and Zac Efron) in a brief slow-dancing scene. Neither my dad nor I are big Pretenders fans, but we both have tracks of theirs we love; “Kid” is one of mine. It’s tender and just the right amount of whiny, and the live version includes a gorgeous string section.
The Helio Sequence, “Shed Your Love” (2008)
Another soundtrack find–this one from Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist. The book was better, but I loved the taste of the music.
Lisa O’Neill, “Old Note” (2022)
I covered this song by Irish folk singer Lisa O’Neill when it was released last November, and somehow it stuck around in my rotation. It’s filled with atmospheric noise, including Lisa’s niece laughing in the outro. Feels nostalgic and homey.
Judee Sill, “The Kiss” (1973)
Never getting over my fascination with Judee Sill–“The Kiss” is one of her most popular and most covered songs, equal parts spiritual and grounded and always painfully candid.
Simon & Garfunkel, “Bookends Theme - Reprise” (1968)
The first time I heard this song, well before Bookends became an all-time favorite album of mine, I was watching E.R. with my mom. The song plays out an episode where one of the surgeons rediscovers old family photographs and home videos with his father, a poignant moment of connection.
See also
My new girly punk playlist “electrified”—I’ve listened to this stuff way more than the sad stuff, to be clear. It’s not all doom and gloom here
The Barbie movie, duh
Stay True, a memoir by Hua Hsu. I’m only a few chapters in but it’s perfect so far. Read an excerpt here (thank you New Yorker Personal History!)