Nothing gold can stay

Nothing gold can stay

I don’t remember the first time I listened to my Nana’s album, but I do remember singing beside her at church. Even in her eighties, her voice was still angelic. Even when she spoke, it was like the ringing of church bells. I hadn’t realized it but my uncle had digitized the album last year. Today, I listened to it for the first time since she passed. I felt a few different things. I felt an outpouring of love for her as her voice traveled into my ear drums. I felt a cascade of sorrow as it brought up that feeling of loss again that I’ve been feeling ever since she died. It is like the notes are ringing in an empty room that she had once occupied, leaving me alone to hear her cries. She had a lovely voice, rich and vibrant, like pure gold. I wonder about that, about hearing a ghost in the music. In the recording she’s alive and bright, but that wasn’t how she was the last time I talked to her. I want to write about her, but I don’t think I can do it right now. I miss her dearly.

I listen to her voice. She sings yesterday and I hear her today. She is alive and she is dead. Her voice is grand and glad and golden—but nothing gold can stay.