Surviving a concert without Michelle (#1371)

Topics/tags: Michelle

Warning! It’s another maudlin musing on missing Michelle.

Two days ago, I went to see Jonathan Richman live at the Englert Theatre. I’ve written about the show, which was fantastic. But my muse also calls me to write about my deeper emotional responses to seeing a show without Michelle.

When I heard that Jonathan Richman was coming to Iowa, I knew that I’d go. Or that I’d try to go. He’s one of my favorite artists, and every show I’ve attended has left me joyful. When I checked at the Englert site, I was pleased to see that there were still third-row seats available [1]. Then came the difficulties. None of my normal concert-going friends were available [2]. That would typically have meant that I’d buy tickets for just Michelle and myself. However, Michelle can no longer attend. Or no longer attend physically; perhaps she was there in spirit.

I’m larger than I’d like to be, so I always worry about sitting next to people and imposing on their space. It’s okay if it’s only on one side, but it’s harder if it’s on both sides. Music should also be shared. So I had my first question: Should I buy two seats and hope to find one friend to come with me, should I buy two and hope to find a couple, or should I just suck it up and go by myself? I decided to buy two tickets; I have a friend I dine with once a month, and I thought they’d be willing to go. And, as I expected, they were happy to meet me there. If they hadn’t, I would have tried to find another person to share the joy of live music, or I would have eaten the cost of the ticket.

As I said in that earlier musing, Michelle really enjoyed Jonathan’s music and had loved seeing him the one time we did so together. It would have been great to bring her again. She would have been pissed at me about taking pictures, but she would have enjoyed the show. And we would have had a nice dinner out together beforehand.

Jonathan Richman shows are wonderful. And so I laughed, clapped, and sang along as best I could. That kept me in decent spirits.

However, some aspects were incredibly difficult.

I’m used to reaching over and holding Michelle’s hand. Or having Michelle reach over and grab mine. It’s a small thing, but there’s such comfort in holding your partner’s hand as you enjoy a show. Also the small glances to share joy in the concert or something the performer said. Or putting my arm around her. So there were times I felt like I should just reach to my right, where she should be sitting. But she wasn’t there. And she’ll never be there. I’m glad that my primary focus was It would be inappropriate to grab your friend’s hand like you grabbed Michelle’s or to put your arm around them; be careful of unconscious habits rather than I’ll never hold Michelle’s hand at a show again. Even the wonder of a Jonathan Richman show could not offset the deep sadness the latter thought begets. I’m sobbing uncontrollably now as I think of it.

The ride home was also more difficult than I expected. I miss the opportunity to debrief with Michelle about shows. I have so many great memories of listening to and talking about music in the car, or talking about anything, or just sitting side by side. I can still envision her with her feet up on the dashboard. Or sleeping while I drove. Or reading on her phone. All of the above. So many experiences to remember with fondness. None that I’ll ever experience again.

I have to remember to remember the love and the joy, even when it hurts.

[1] Given the number of times Jonathan stepped away from the mic, I was particularly pleased to have purchased such seats.

[2] Maybe none were interested. I can’t recall.

Version 1.0 of 2025-10-19.