Book Excerpt: For You. Story #4

Brenda Van Horn
New York

The nation was still reeling from the September 11 attacks when on January 26, 2002, I got the knock on the door that no parent ever wants to hear. My first-born son, Jonathon, a gifted drummer, was dead at 20, a victim of a drunk driver. There are no words to express the grief and rage you feel when you lose a child, and no one can truly understand the depth of despair you feel. Then The Rising was released, and Bruce gave us the words to express our sorrow as well as the words to help us start to heal.

I was convinced that Bruce lost someone on 9/11 because in the song “You’re Missing” he so clearly detailed what it is like to be a survivor. Out of all of the songs, I cannot now, nor have I ever been able to, listen to this one without crying. It cuts right through to my heart and exposes the pain and loss I feel every moment of every day. When The Rising tour began, my surviving son Buddy, age 11, and I attended as many shows as we could get to. Without fail, when I heard the first few notes of “You’re Missing,” I would make an excuse and leave until it was over.

On December 8, 2002, we managed to get general admission tickets for the show in Charlotte, North Carolina. Through a strange twist of magic, fate, and my son’s persistence, we found ourselves in the front row leaning on the stage right in front of Clarence. It was every fan’s biggest dream come true, but when “You’re Missing” started I knew I couldn’t excuse myself. I couldn’t leave my son there by himself and hide in the ladies’ room until I heard the opening bars of “Sunny Day”—we would have lost our spot.

My son looked at me and asked, “Mom, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll just have to tough it out,” I said.

He gave me a hug and we stood arm in arm watching Bruce, just swaying to the music with tears flowing freely down our faces as the waves of grief washed over us. As the last few notes of the song were playing, I looked up to see tears streaming down Clarence Clemons’s face as well. I thought at first I imagined it. Was it sweat? No, it was tears, I realized as I watched him wipe his eyes. My first reaction was that this must be a really sad song if he hears it all the time and it still made him cry. Then I realized that it wasn’t the song, it was us—a boy grieving for his brother, a mother grieving for her son—that caused those tears.

Bruce never takes you down in the valley without bringing you back up the mountain, and with the next song “Waitin’ on a Sunny Day” our tears dried. When it was over The Big Man took a few steps down to the “slide” level and leaned over, reaching out a hand to my son. Bud reached up to shake his hand and when he pulled back he was holding a small, shiny, black maraca. Bud was speechless as he stared first at the little instrument in his hand and then in wonderment at Clarence, who was looking down at him with a kindly smile. The Big Man didn’t say a word, just turned and put his hands together in a prayer position as he bowed to my “thank you.”

The Big Man, someone we have cheered and applauded for years, not only felt our pain but in some small way did his part to ease it. Had the show ended right then we would have gone home happy, but it didn’t. The magic of the night continued with a set list that seemed to have been written for us. Every note, every clap, every single stage slide is etched in my memory, all of it a joyous celebration of life.Finally, after a rousing rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” it was over. The band was taking their final bows when Max Weinberg bounded out from behind the drum kit and made a beeline across the stage to us. With a big grin he handed his drumsticks to my son. It was an electric moment—his big brother’s hero, standing in front of him, offering this gift. For the first time in almost a year a smile spread across my son’s face. We left the arena with my son holding Max’s sticks in one hand and shaking Clarence’s maraca with the other, and both us walking about a foot off the floor. Yes, the pain was still there and always will be, but on this one night Max and The Big Man eased it just a little.

To purchase your copy of this "for the fans, by the fans" masterpiece, head to www.foryoubruce.com

*Image courtesy of seeger-tour