The last song I wrote was a tribute to a new yet dear friend, Richard Ford, titled 'Dream Well'. We'd met while I was spending time with my then critically ill brother, Saul, at Stanford Hospital last spring.
I'd bonded deeply with Richard's family during those few weeks, particularly his wife, Kimberly – a fellow musician. We shared many hours in an over-lit, echoey hallway; the temporary, makeshift waiting area for the cardiac ICU.
I'd brought my little guitar (whom I lovingly refer to as Goldie) and often passed time curled up in a chair or seated on the floor, plucking her strings. I played for Saul every day – even while he was in a medically induced coma – hoping some part of him could hear my voice and take comfort in knowing he wasn't alone.
I'd just written 'Rag-Doll' the week before I flew South, so I played that one often. At Kimberly's request, I played it for Richard, while she and their daughter, Natalie, sat at the foot of his bed in a tear-soaked embrace.
I visited him frequently after that, playing songs for him – just as I was for my brother. Though our time together was limited, our connection was warm and intimate...instantly familial.
When I learned he'd passed suddenly, right after I'd returned home, I was sincerely heart-broken. Writing this song was how I processed my grief, as well as honoring the complexities of spending such long, heart-wrenching hours at the bedside of one you love, unsure if they'll pull through.
In June, I flew to Santa Barbara and played 'Dream Well' at Richard's memorial; an honor I don't quite have words for. Many people there told me this song needs to be shared, yet – other than performing it there in front of hundreds of strangers – I've held it close, sharing it only with a very few...until now.
For a while, I've considered posting this rough iPhone recording – made right after I finished writing it – in its raw, imperfect state.
It feels quite vulnerable doing so, yet there is also an authentic tenderness in its emotional sentiment that I doubt can ever be recaptured; something not so unlike an emotional snapshot...beautiful in its delicate nakedness.
Today, I decided it was time, so I've posted it on Choon (also linked below – click song title.) I did a quick clean up to remove some of the static, but it is otherwise unproduced.
I'm sharing now as an old friend lies in a coma in critical condition, with decidedly slim chances of survival, supported solely by machines that will be turned off today.
To anyone who might be struggling with that excruciating truth, I offer this song. As well as to anyone else who may be experiencing acute losses of your own.
May it bring you some small comfort.
xo, zippy
my love – so calm and peaceful
gone someplace I cannot follow
close enough to touch, yet unreachable
so still, as the world moves around you
can you hear me callin' your name
as I whisper in your ear
singing softly – I love you
how I hope you can hear
you're not alone, my darlin' – I am right here by your side
so rest easy, my love – while I sing you lullabies
I find comfort, in the strangest place
down the long hallway
where the anguished and brokenhearted
sit silently in wait
we anchor one another
keeping worry at bay
drawing strength from each-other
to make it through these days
you're not alone, my darlin' – I am right here by your side
so rest easy, my love – while I sing you lullabies
I'll stay right here, for as long as it takes
I’ll brush the hair from your brow
holding your hand in mine
this is all that matters now
take my blood – take my breath
I'd give you all that I have, if I had the choice
just to see your beautiful smile
and to hear your beloved voice
you're not alone, my darlin' – I am right here by your side
so rest easy, my love – while I sing you lullabies
you're not alone, my love – I am right here by your side
so dream well, my darlin' – I will sing you lullabies
I will sing you lullabies... 💜
