Aqua‑Net Hair, ’80s Anthems, and the Grief Playlist Nobody Warned Me About
Navigating loss with humor, hairspray, and a skip button that deserves an Olympic medal.
The Audio Minefield Nobody Warned Me About
We talk a lot about the physical spaces that hold memories—the closet full of shirts, the empty side of the bed, the sacred butt‑groove on the recliner. But nobody warns you about the audio minefield.
When you lose your spouse, music doesn’t just “hit different.” It becomes a full‑scale emotional booby trap. Especially the love songs. Before loss, they were harmless—something you blasted on a top‑down Jeep ride or hummed while making dinner like you were starring in your own ’80s montage.
After? Every lyric becomes a precision‑guided emotional missile. It’s like going from a soft acoustic set to a surprise heavy‑metal stadium show inside your chest cavity.
Track 1: The Sudden Volume Inversion (The Radio Attacks)
You’re just trying to buy avocados, minding your business, when suddenly the grocery store speakers decide to drop “Take My Breath Away” like it’s 1986, and you’re in Top Gun but sad.
One minute you’re squeezing produce, the next you’re staring into the middle distance like a widow in a perfume commercial. Berlin didn’t ask for this power, but here we are.
Track 2: The 20‑Year‑Old Backstage Vibe Check
This is where Gen Z humbles you.
I was driving with Avery the other day. My playlist was still set to “Emotional Excavation Mode” from a previous solo drive—the deep, broody tracks I use when I’m letting myself feel the Greg‑shaped spaces in my life.
Cue the dramatic 20‑year‑old sigh. The kind that suggests she has personally carried the weight of the cosmos since breakfast.
Then she hits me with:
“Mom. Your music is so depressing.”
To her, “With or Without You” is a mood killer. To me, it’s the national anthem of “I didn’t sign up for this solo tour.”
She hears a whiny Irish man. I hear my entire emotional scaffolding.
Track 3: Rewriting the Lyrics in Real Time
Most love songs are written from the beginning—butterflies, first looks, dramatic declarations of forever.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting at a red light doing exactly what “Faithfully” promises, entirely against my will. Journey didn’t warn me that “forever yours” might come with an asterisk and a cosmic plot twist.
And honestly, if teenage‑me, with my Aqua‑Net‑reinforced hair reaching structural engineering heights, had known how these lyrics would hit decades later, she would’ve demanded hazard pay.
Track 4: The “Skip” Button as a Survival Tool
The car radio becomes a high‑stakes battlefield. You hear the first two notes of “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now,” and suddenly you’re diving for the skip button like Jason Bourne with a steering wheel.
Because grief absolutely did stop us. Starship can sit down.
This is what fierce energy‑gatekeeping looks like. I refuse to let a rogue three‑minute melody drag me into a public meltdown in the Jimmy John’s drive‑thru. Terre Haute is not getting that show today.
So now I maintain two playlists:
one for raw grief processing
one for “I have passengers who would prefer not to be emotionally waterboarded by Jen’s music choices.”
Track 5: The Anthems We Still Protect
Not all music becomes dangerous. Some songs remain sacred.
There are tracks that belong entirely to us—nearly 32 years of being an unstoppable team. Those are the headliners I refuse to let grief ruin.
“Don’t Stop Believin” is one of them. That’s not just a song. That’s a marriage anthem. A Jeep‑ride classic. A “we survived everything life threw at us” theme song.
We don’t skip those.
We crank them.
We protect them like the national treasures they are.
A Note on the Power of What We Choose to Hear
Here’s the thing I’ve learned the hard way:
Music doesn’t just reflect our mood — it can steer it.
Sometimes gently, sometimes like a semi‑truck with no brakes.
After loss, the songs we choose (or the ones that ambush us in the grocery store) can shift the entire emotional weather system of a day. A single chord can pull you under, or a single chorus can lift you just enough to breathe again.
So now I choose carefully.
Not perfectly.
Not always gracefully.
But intentionally.
Some days I need the deep, heavy tracks that let me sit in the truth of what I’ve lost. Other days I need something lighter—something that keeps me from spiraling into a grief vortex before I’ve even had my coffee.
And some days, the most loving thing I can do for myself is hit “skip” without apology.
Closing Set & Community Discussion
The playlist of our lives has changed frequencies, and learning to navigate the static takes time.
So tell me: how has your soundtrack shifted? What song ambushed you in public? What’s your ninja‑level skip strategy? Let’s talk about the setlist of our grief below.
And truly—don’t be shy about dropping a comment. It doesn’t have to be profound, poetic, or perfectly packaged. Just share whatever this journal entry made pop into your brain. A memory, a song, a moment, a laugh, a sigh. Anything at all. Your voice matters here.
Here's a little gem for you from my Aqua Net days. You're welcome.
Journal Prompts for Reflection
The Unexpected Encore — What song now hits you like an emotional brick to the face?
The Skip List — Which songs are banned from your car unless you’re alone and wearing waterproof mascara?
The Platinum Track — What song belongs so completely to your person that grief is simply not allowed to touch it?
Author Note
I write about grief the way I live it: honestly, messily, and with a sense of humor that probably worries my children. If you’re navigating life after losing your person, I hope this piece reminds you that you’re not alone—and that it’s okay to laugh in the middle of the heartbreak. Especially when the grocery store soundtrack is out to get you.
I wonder if they know to post here. For me, Facebook is what I've always known and it's what I'm comfortable with. I've never been part of a Blog Group (if that's even the way to say it). Might be true for many.
So the photo - I tossed my hands in the air because I was over the camera. I think that's pretty clear in my expression. I'll share a pic of me in the hospital with Poops in a chair next to me - it literally looks like she was having a worse day than I was having (and yes, her nickname is Poops!). One of my most favorite photos ever.
You made a very solid point; those…
And, for my broken brain - is this where I'm supposed to respond, or should I have posted this is the group?
Aqua-Net... I always said aqua-net caused my brain tumor! Funny how you mentioned it in your post. I'm going to try to post a pic of me from 16 years ago after surgery. Like you, music just does it to me. It does the good to me, and it does the bad to me. I'm planning Sharon's Celebration of Life, and there are a handful of songs she wanted to be played. Remember, we were 'blessed' (?) in knowing what was coming so we had an absolute shit-ton of conversations. In My Life (Beatles)
Songbird (C. McVee) See You In My Dreams (Springsteen) The Story (L. Rimes)
The Story was our wedding song, and it's still us 100%. The other songs are just…