I’ve written about my love of the Foo Fighters several times in this blog. It’s usually the same theme. A lyric hits me a certain way. A song inspires me somehow. Dave Grohl does something awesome.
I find peace in their music. I find hope in their music. I find myself in their music. I’ve made connections with other fans that love their music the way I do, and for music lovers, those are the kind of connections you can’t always have with people in your regular day-to-day life.
Music is personal. Why you love something may not be obvious or shared by other people. And it’s fine. If you like it, then like it. If you love it, then love it. And I do love the Foo Fighters.
I was a little late to the game on their music and didn’t discover it until I just happen to be going through a very difficult time in my life. Maybe that's why I love them so much. Their music became that soundtrack for what I would call my daily therapy. I was in a bad marriage. My ex was in Iraq. I was home alone with two small children and my only release each day was my daily runs. I didn’t exercise to lose weight or stay in shape. I exercised because I had to for my own sanity. I would turn on my music and just start running until I didn’t feel so sad anymore.
I first listened to their music after I found a Foo Fighters CD at the library while I was there for story hour with the kids. I thought, I’ve heard good things and should probably give this thing a listen. It was There is Nothing Left to Lose. I was hooked and over time, I went on to get the rest of their music. 
Every day I’d shuffle through my Foos playlist, run my heart out, and then be ready to take on the day.
Their music got me through all the tough times in my life from then on. A horrible divorce, Roni’s surgeries, grad school, stressful jobs, being flat broke, the death of my second husband. Really any bad day. I’d put in my earbuds, turn up the volume and just let the music wash away the bad until it didn’t hurt so much. And when those songs come on during a good day, it’s just as good. Even when the kids were little, they knew the rule of the car was no one talks when the Foo Fighters are playing. The kids still walk into the kitchen when I’m cooking and the music is up and they can instantly sing just about every line to whatever Foo Fighters' song is playing and they probably have no idea why they know it.
After Robby died, I decided I would start a special savings account just for concert tickets and traveling around to see the Foo Fighters and meet up with other fans. I have two upcoming trips to do just that and now I have no idea what will happen except I won’t see them. And let’s be honest, in the big picture of life, that’s not so bad. I’ll miss a concert, but there are kids and a wife and family members and a really close band that lost their everything the day Taylor Hawkins died.
And that’s the thing with death that sucks so much. It’s final. No second chances. No more having someone walk through the door to say hello. No more smiles. No more hugs.
But the thing about life is there are second chances, new memories, new opportunities, big hugs, and hopefully something to smile about. Something to hold on to—even if it’s just for a minute before it’s also gone.
So, am I OK? Of course. This isn’t my tragedy. Nothing will ever replace my love of the Foo Fighters for getting me through the toughest times of my life. But that’s just how life works. It goes on even when you don’t want to. Because life doesn’t stop until it does, and until then, I’ll keep moving forward, soundtrack on full blast, trying to live my best life with the people I love.
