My sweet spouse looks in my direction this morning and makes a sigh that closes in on the room for just a moment and tells me she is gone. At just 46. An icon and anthem to our college years; my ongoing love for boots with dresses and even a secret wish I could pull off a bleach blonde pixie cut came from her. One of the few reasons my husband learned to play the guitar was to make their music. He can still strum out some of their chords with pursed lips and pained finger tips. The loss of Dolores O’Riordan is yet again another long list of losses (most likely) for the same damn FUCKING reasons. I would like to be wrong, but I’m not.
O’Riordan was a sexual abuse victim.
She attempted suicide in 2013 recognizing her history as part of her struggle.
Now, another member of my survivor tribe is gone.
I am heartbroken. She had this wild robotic wide legged ‘dance’ only an Irish girl could get away with. She could sing, dance, play guitar and call down an audience with her heavy rock rhythm like so few women in rock could. In today’s cultural moment of women empowerment, her lyrics of “you’re so pretty the way you are” were some of the foundings of the beautiful ‘lovin yourself’ moment I continue to be inspired by. You almost wonder how could this person who appears like a baby thumbnail in my music play list have made such a powerful impact on my life.
And yet, The Cranberries was the first song our daughter ever heard
as we traveled home with her from the hospital just days after her birth.
How’s that for music memories?
And here She is. Gone. Sexually abused for years while a child, suffering mental health issues most of her life. The therapist in me wishes I could have scooped her up, held her in my arms and beg her to see the way home. Why is it that I could and not her? I will never have an answer to that.
I want to be bitter, swallow a thousand limes and puke on every image of a perpetrator I can muster in my mind. I want to scream and be ugly. But instead, I vow, with every single cell I will ever make- I will make every SINGLE effort to get in YOUR FUCKING way.
You want me to be quiet- forget it.
You want me to be pleasant because it makes you uncomfortable- NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
I am taking up too much of your space and my presence makes you want to look away- BYE Felicia.
You think the cussing and loud clothes are not lady like- I eat your lady likes for lunch.
Perhaps this one life of mine will not account for much, I will never be a Dolores O’Riordan, but I will carry the legacy of her life and I will never forget that she was a surivor just like me. I can tell you the one beautiful, crisp bright spot to his horrible loss was watching my Donovan listen to her videos and playing her live concert in Paris today on the television while playing right along with her, strumming his guitar. To see a man not just listen but truly celebrate the beauty and magnificience of women remains astounding. Many of the female feminist musicians I love today were found, shared and revered first by him.
Dolores, you may have physically left us today; but two little people in a small town called Gray, in the middle of nowhere Georgia, celebrate you. We will hold both you and your sweet children deep inside us- Forever. Watch for the clouds. She makes her music from there now.
Transformative Trauma 