Veering heavily on oversharing, but the only outlets where I can actually process anything are through music and writing. My mom loves music, too. When we learned of her cancer diagnosis, I decided to start compiling her favorite songs, those with stories attached to them or memories I associate with her. Now, when I miss her, I can just press play and feel she’s not so far away. Here are just a few of the songs that connect us through car radios, Sony Boomboxes, and headphone cords, forever.
“Where You Lead” Carole King
Mom loved Carole King. Tapestry was one of her favorite records of all time, and in proper mother-daughter Gilmore Girls fashion, “Where You Lead” tops this list. Admittedly, she and my sister watched Gilmore Girls together without me because I always opted to do my homework instead (very cool). I played this one in the car on our way home from the hospice facility on the day that she died.
“You’re Gonna Go Far” Noah Kahan, Brandi Carlile
Obligatory long distance daughter song. Mom fell in love with Noah in early 2024, after the loss of her own mom (my Grammy). She had taken on the gargantuan task of cleaning out Grammy’s NJ home to be able to put it on the market. If there was a trinket to be kept, Grammy kept it, and if there were ever a woman on the cusp of hoarding, endearingly, it was also Grammy. In order to get through long days of tchotchke sorting, Mom put her JBL speaker to work and played the Eras Tour setlist on repeat. Noah was part of the post-playlist radio mix, and she fell in love with his writing and sound. She sent me this song (with the Brandi feature) one day that winter. It made her think of me, as the kiddo who had flown the coop. Whenever I missed her in Austin, I played this one. It’s still here for me when I need it.
“January 23-30, 1978” Steve Forbert
I love the lore of this song — Mom loved Steve Forbert in her high school and college years. He performed at her alma mater, UVA, while she was a student. She told us about requesting this very song, “Jan 23-30, 1978,” and he responded saying, “I don’t know that one,” to which she said, “But you wrote it!” Ha. She told us of how it was a good concert anyway, and how some of her friends gave her trouble because he sounded like Winnie the Pooh. We have a signed CD from Steve that Mom’s brother Keith got for her just a few years ago.
It’s eerie that Mom passed on January 29th, within that week sung by Steve. For me, even more so, the song’s whole story is about a home visit, about that feeling of taking off from your hometown back to your big kid, big city (relatively, for me) life. With St. Louis fitting the quiet, cozy picture he paints, I pressed play on this song as I took off for Austin after 2.5 months at home to help care for and be with Mom in her final months.
Steve has since re-recorded (and I guess, remembered that he had written) this song. Funnier yet, we were reminded of the UVA concert story (and this song!) by a friend of Mom’s who’s unashamedly nursing an unrequited crush on her to this day. She was a charmer, I don’t blame him… but maybe after 40+ years, it’s time to let that crush go (lol). Grateful for the memory he reminded us of regardless.
“The Sign” Ace of Base
Growing up, Mom and Dad hosted tons of themed charity trivia nights at our church. One of the rounds one year was “S” songs (literally, just songs starting with “S”). They burned a CD of random and popular songs starting with “S” and played a few lines of each for each team to then guess. Somehow, this “S” CD lived near-permanently in Mom’s MDX and would play on rides to and fro Kirk Day School. “The Sign” is burned, like that CD, into my memory as my cool music mom’s song.
“Borderline” Madonna
Mom first heard this song while backpacking through Europe with her friend Laurie after college. They popped into a McDonald’s in France (“chez McDo,” if you’re hip) and this song had just been released, and played in the restaurant. She said she’d never forget hearing this one for the first time there in that moment. I have music memories the same way, with mismatched places and eras but inextricable associations. Funnily, my strongest weird association is also from France, when my iTunes download failed and I was left with only “Motownphilly” by Boyz II Men. Madonna or Motownphilly, the fields of Northern France are forever threaded with random American pop.
“These Days” Jackson Browne
Mom loved Jackson Browne. We really connected over him. I fell in love with Jackson’s “These Days,” and when Mom was in the hospital, I told her about how I liked Jackson’s version better than the Eagles’ (the more acclaimed version, probably). Browne wrote it when he was only 16 years old, and there’s such fresh heartbreak in the lyrics and melody, along with disaffected or reluctant acceptance. Something about it just feels really beautiful and real.
There was a music therapist at Mom’s hospice facility, a grad student studying music therapy (but somehow, born to and already mastering it). He carried a small guitar and took requests. His catalog was a thousand something songs, and Mom requested he play “These Days.” He didn’t know it, but came back a few days later to let her know he was learning and almost had it down pat. We were visiting at the time, so he said he’d come back to play it for her another time. She never got the chance to hear it.
Maybe heaven has a jukebox. I like to think of her getting to hear whatever she loves, whenever she wants. Music is too powerful to not exist beyond this lifetime.
“Night Changes” One Direction
Silly or sweet, I found this one on Mom’s “All Time” playlist. My sister was the resident middle school “Directioner,” kitted out with a cardboard cutout of Harry, a 1D makeup pouch (with Zayn’s face later scribbled out in Sharpie, for obvious reasons), and pictures from one Halloween with her friends dressed as all five members of the group. Seeing this one in Mom’s faves made me A) laugh, but B) think of how much she loved for us what we loved, even if it was ridiculous. Honestly, this is an objectively great song and even more emotional than I realized when I listen to it with my freshly grieving ears.
“The Circle Game” Joni Mitchell
Mom went to Camp Killoleet in Vermont the summer of 1973 and glowed whenever she talked about it. She was 10 years old, which is probably the most amenable age to playing outside and drinking far too much Big Juice. The campers would sing songs all the time, her favorite of which “The Circle Game.” Before I knew who Joni Mitchell was, I equated her ethereal folkiness to the likes of “kid music,” almost like woodsy Schoolhouse Rock. Turns out, that was just a bohemian vibe, ha. Mom collected this one and the rest of their camp songs in a playlist called “Killoleet 73” (aptly named).
She only went to Killoleet that one summer, but it may have been one of her happiest ever. My sister and I were also sent to camp, (many of them, tbh) but mainly to HoneyRock in the northwoods of Wisconsin. Those tech-free, sleeping bag summers are some of my happiest, too.
Mom had so many other favorites. I’m devastated to not know about every song, artist, or album she ever loved, but I will cherish the stories I have.
Other music-related cutenesses of my Mom include the Fleetwood Mac Rumors concert taped straight from the radio in 1977, the product of a bygone era: sitting by a radio speaker to capture music live (try not to sneeze!). She re-found the cassette just a few years ago. Thank God my family kept our boombox to play CDs and cassettes to this day.
She also loved the Grateful Dead. She wasn’t a full-on groupie, but as close as a psych major gets. I wish I knew more about her Deadhead era, and which are her all-time favorites (besides “Scarlet Begonias“). Connected or not, I do know her favorite Ben and Jerry’s flavor is Cherry Garcia. It’s mine, too.
Thank goodness, also, that my family let me keep many of our CDs and (hopefully also) most of Mom’s vinyl collection (which lives in a cardboard box labeled “Mary’s WAY-COOL Rock ‘n’ Roll Albums” with little music notes doodled in Sharpie). It’s the most precious gift to be able to put on her records and hear the same skips and scratches she did. Some are warped, sun-faded, and fraying, but they’re all perfect.
It doesn’t make sense to me yet that she’s not here anymore. All I know right now is that she blessed me with a deep love for music, and that I will miss her every day for the rest of my life. Her music taste, her faith, and her kindness I will always look up to. And as I wrap my mind around losing her, I’m going to try to keep writing because I love it and because she would want me to do what I love.
In loving memory of Mary Anne Hughes. Rock on, Mama.
Cherry-Picked 