I'll share a real bad experience in this blog since it might be therapeutic for me, and maybe helpful for someone in the same position. So, let's start somewhere.
In 2009 I attended a course called Creative Music. You learned some theory, to play different instruments (I took some drum classes that I highly enjoyed), and you rehearsed your own tracks with a group from the class. Ever since the start of the first semester I looked forward to December 8th, when a concert was to be given. As the date came closer our group rehearsed more and more intensely. Among my tracks I had picked Seasons of the Fall to perform, and on remaining tracks I played a bit of drums and a little keyboard.
So came the 8th of December. In the afternoon I sat behind the drums doing some rehearsing when my phone rang. It was my mother. She asked if I was sitting down. Well yes I was, behind those drums, in the area where we would later perform our tracks. In good sight of a lot of people who were around. Strangers. But yes, I was sitting down.
My mother started speaking of some relatives she was visiting and I did not understand why she had asked if I was sitting down. To begin with she made no sense to me. Then she started speaking of my father. Ice hitting my stomach. She told me about how she spoke with him before noon, how he felt nauseous and needed to lie down. How she an hour later couldn't reach him. How she then called my second oldest brother Niklas, who at the time lived with her and dad due to a job he'd gotten in the small town. How she told Niklas she couldn't get a hold of dad. How Niklas looked through the house, how she heard him drop the phone when he found our father on the bed in one of the rooms. How the ambulance came, how it was not sure whether or not dad was alive.
The darkness within. The silent chaos.