Merle Haggard Fucking Lied to Me
Merle Haggard fucking lied to me.
“If We Make It Through December” played on the radio with alarming frequency, especially for such an old song, in the final December that my mother took ill, and I - young, naive, and desperate - took it as a sign. The universe was reassuring me that, if my mother just survived December, she would be okay.
She did, but she wasn’t.
That January when she died, forcing me, in all my grief, to take a break from college; return to my loathed Kentucky homeland and abusive family; and take custody of a damaged younger sibling, the radio seemed strangely - eerily, guiltily - quiet. Sheepishly, Merle’s dulcet twang remained silent, as if he knew he had trespassed against me and was subsequently pretending that I was the one who no longer existed, ghosting to the wind, just like my newly departed mother.
But I’ll never forget how he built me up and let me down. Fifteen years later, I am still pissed at the fact that Merle Haggard fucking lied to me.
Deep twang of rawness
Resigned, yet, unsuspecting Eternal anger
Perpetual suffering
In each unforgiven note