The Living Years
Just say it. Say it now. Am I Loud and Clear?
Anyone subscribe to SiriusXM radio? I do.
Anyone listen to The 80’s on 8? I do.
If you didn’t grow up for your formative years during the decade of the 80’s, well, I have nothing but sympathy for you. You missed out on the best music any adolescent to early twenty’s person could ever dream of having. For me, the 80’s “grew me.” I entered the 80’s as I left middle school with a literal bang, living as we were in the direct path of Mt. St. Helen’s ash; in the 80’s, I began high school; found girls and football (tore out my knee in my sophomore year but rehabbed in time for my junior year’s season!); played varsity baseball and soccer; discovered a love of reading; worked the hop farm with my dad and brother; attended Catholic mass religiously (as it were); entered, and graduated from, college where I also found my “to be” future wife; and by decade’s end, moved across state, got married to said college sweetheart aka fiancé, and got myself employed as a teacher! And just like great music always does, 80’s music seemed to mirror every phase of my life over those 10 years.
I mean, c’mon, how could it not:
Springsteen. Prince. Dire Straits. Madonna. Journey. Cindi Lauper. Bruce Hornsby. John Mellencamp. Culture Club. Tears for Fears. Genesis. Peter Gabriel. Stevie Nicks. Stevie Wonder. Stevie Winwood. Dire Straits. Duran Duran. Shania Twain. Billy Joel. R.E.M. Police. Queen. Tina Turner. Dire Straits. Kenny Logins. Fleetwood Mac. Simple Minds. George Michael. Def Leopard. Sammy Hagar. Dire Straits. Loverboy. The Go Go’s. The Bangles. J. Geils Band. Crowded House. Ramones. Van Halen. Mister Mister. Alanis Morrisette. Whitney Houston. U2. Blondie. Dire Straits. Guns and Roses. Toto. Hall and Oates. Tom Petty. Styx. Bon Jovi. Elton John. Foreigner. Steeley Dan. Don Henley. Little River Band. Dire Straits. The Cars. Men At Work. Alabama. Seals and Croft. Lionel Richie. Huey Lewis and The News. Air Supply. REO Speedwagon. The Starship.
Did I mention Dire Straits?
Oh, and a guy by the name of Michael Jackson.
C’mon y’all, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Beat THAT with a stick!
(You put 80’s music on at a party and NO ONE complains!)
So, the other day…
My wife and I were running an errand into a town near us when Mike + The Mechanics came on SiriusXM’s 80’s On 8 with their biggest hit, released in 1988. Mark Goodman, (remember HIM? One of the original MTV V.J.’s?) was emceeing the morning. After the song played, Goodman reminisced about the song saying it had personally changed his world view “for the rest of my life. That song was THAT pivotal to a lot of people.”
Last week I reminisced about my dad in connection to the Buddhist practice known as “The Five Remembrances.” So maybe Dad, as he often is, was present on my mind and heart that day. After I heard this song, and listened to Goodman’s comments following, I immediately said to myself “that song doesn’t apply to me, or anyone in my family. We have no regrets. In fact, we have only great pride and comfort. That song is a song no one in my family could have written—because we told him, and each other, what needed to be said, in his living years.” I don’t know if we are lucky in that way. I don’t know if that song had anything to do, consciously or subconsciously, with a “knowing” that we had to do Dad’s dying differently. But we did it differently. Dad played a big part in that following my mom’s death as he fully came to realize the love he had for his family—a love that stayed shadowed behind my mom’s light for most of our lives.
Following my mom’s death, ironically, started Dad in his remaining living years, and us in ours, down a path of expressed love and relationship and closeness we hadn’t experienced together up to that point. One of the reasons we “did Dad’s death well,” and had our own individual grief periods that were, themselves, lived well and healthily, is because we did say what needed to be said in his living years. We hugged in ways we never hugged before in his living years. We kissed each other’s cheeks in his living years. And we said more “I love you’s” in his remaining living years, the seven years we had him following mom’s death to his own, then we had said in all the previous 50 years combined. In those precious seven years, years we knew were his final living years, we began to say the things we all needed to say, as initiated by Dad himself. There was no rancor, hatred, anger, trauma, or ill-will of any kind in those sayings. No confessions, regrets, or acts of omission or commission needed to be given voice. That’s a credit to our Dad and who he was as a stoically solid, kind, humble, and caring man. This can’t be said by everyone, I know. For many, saying things that need to be said is among THE hardest things a human can do with another—but so is holding on to them and NOT saying them.
And when it came to the morning when my father passed away, not like the storyteller in the song, we were right there holding his hands; we told him the final things we needed to say, and that he needed to hear at that moment.
We said: “We love you Dad. You can let go now. Say hi to mom. We love you.”
We said it in his final breath as he exited his living years. After, there was nothing left to be said.
We’d said it all.
The Mike + the Mechanics song is an important one. Many of the song’s written or performed by the artists above, from the best decade of music…EVER, are important. That’s why music plays such a vital role in the formation of who we become. In 2004, one of my all time favorite singers, Kenny Chesney, a guy my same age with a freakishly similar upbringing (though he in East Tennessee, me in Eastern Washington state), as we both were raised on 80’s music, religion, and football, wrote about this phenomenon in a song called “I Go Back.” You should find it and play it and see if it ain’t true for yourself. But I digress….
I remember as well the emotion of the song—at that time, in 1988, I was finishing up college, had met my future fiancé, and knew I was going to be moving away from my Dad, and my hometown, and from the music of my growing up years. At that time, we didn’t start yet down the road of saying to each other what needed to be said. Like I said, we apparently needed mom to die first before that happened. That was mom’s final gift to us, btw, as she breathed the last breath of her living years: Dad’s open heart.
The song is meant to be a song of yearning and regret. A poignant song of moments together never lived, opportunities lost, and “shoulds” left unfulfilled. It’s meant to evoke melancholy and sadness. For me, it evokes a sense of happiness, joy, and pride. Because we learned the lesson taught in the song before it was too late. We learned the importance of saying to a loved one what needed to be said while they can still hear it—in their living years. And so that they can say it back to us—in ours.
THAT has made all the difference for what will be all the rest of my own living years.
"The Living Years" is a soft rock ballad written by B. A. Robertson and Mike Rutherford, and recorded by Rutherford's rock band Mike + The Mechanics. It was released in December 1988 in the United Kingdom and in the United States as the second single from their album Living Years. The song was a chart hit around the world, topping the US Billboard Hot 100 on 25 March 1989, the band's only number one and last top ten hit on that chart, and reaching number-one in Australia, Canada and Ireland and number 2 in the UK
(Wikipedia, 2025)
Every generation Blames the one before And all of their frustrations Come beating on your door I know that I'm a prisoner To all my Father held so dear I know that I'm a hostage To all his hopes and fears I just wish I could have told him in the living years Crumpled bits of paper Filled with imperfect thought Stilted conversations I'm afraid that's all we've got You say you just don't see it He says it's perfect sense You just can't get agreement In this present tense We all talk a different language Talking in defence Say it loud, say it clear You can listen as well as you hear It's too late when we die To admit we don't see eye to eye So we open up a quarrel Between the present and the past We only sacrifice the future It's the bitterness that lasts So Don't yield to the fortunes You sometimes see as fate It may have a new perspective On a different day And if you don't give up, and don't give in You may just be OK. Say it loud, say it clear You can listen as well as you hear It's too late when we die To admit we don't see eye to eye I wasn't there that morning When my Father passed away I didn't get to tell him All the things I had to say I think I caught his spirit Later that same year I'm sure I heard his echo In my baby's new born tears I just wish I could have told him in the living years Say it loud, say it clear You can listen as well as you hear It's too late when we die To admit we don't see eye to eye
If you’ve got something to say, say it loud, say it clear. Say it now, in the living years.
Can you listen as well as you hear?
Always and Ubuntu,
~ k
🙏🏼 💙
Oh, okay. Since you asked:
Thank you, Kert. Music, the language of the soul, plays a crucial role in our lives.
This post makes me reflect on my dad's last days. He was a self-taught singer who, during his middle years, was invited to perform with a big band and played at local venues as well as a few out-of-state events. I believe singing was a way for my dad to process the emotional turbulence from his upbringing. He sang while doing the dishes, mowing the lawn, and, of course, in the shower until the last couple of months of his life. Yet, in the week of his passing, as he lay propped up in bed, you could hear him belting out old favorites. His voice was strong, and he remembered all the lyrics. I often think of that last week and find comfort in the memory.
You and me, we think alike!
Although mine was the ‘70s
Great writing, thanks!
Someday let’s talk about multi sport high school athletes.