I was first formally introduced to the music of my hero on my 14th birthday, when my father gifted me the vinyl of Bruce Springsteen’s 1975 mega-hit album, Born to Run.
My dad was a lifelong fan and was lucky enough to see “The Boss” in concert a handful of times when he was younger. He played Springsteen’s music relentlessly in our household as I was growing up, but I didn’t independently seek out the music until he gifted me that record.
I vividly remember sitting down in my living room that night and listening to the eight-song LP in its entirety for the first time. Springsteen’s lyrics spoke to me like no other artist’s work had before.
It felt like he understood everything about me and everything I’d experienced — from feeling worn out and overwhelmed to being eager to break out of my hometown.
After my birthday, I dove deeper into Springsteen’s discography, uncovering countless songs that I was eager to discuss with my dad and family.
To keep from overwhelming my mom and oldest brother with a flood of messages, I established a Springsteen group chat that included my dad and middle brother — who was also a huge fan. Thankfully, my oldest brother has since become a devoted listener, too.
As a way to show my appreciation for my dad’s gift, I decided to gift him the vinyl of Springsteen’s then-new album, Letter To You, for Christmas the next year. He loved it, and especially appreciated the poignant tunes about the passage of time.
Our love of Springsteen, and that album, was an integral part of our relationship.
Two years flew by as Springsteen’s music accompanied late-night drives to my hockey games and day trips to the family cottage, until one night in March 2022, when I had a conversation with my dad at the kitchen counter.
We went through our favourite Springsteen songs album by album, and agreed that his heartfelt 1987 LP, Tunnel of Love, was underappreciated. The exchange was a classic “dad conversation” that we so often had — and it turned out to be one of the last ones I ever had with him.
Soon after, my dad passed away unexpectedly.
For months I felt like I was on auto-pilot, and most days I struggled to get out of bed. After a particularly rough day, I wrote one of my favourite Springsteen lyrics on a notepad: “Tomorrow there’ll be sunshine and all this darkness passed.”
The line was taken from the uplifting anthem, “Land of Hope and Dreams,” which was always at the top of my dad’s list of favourite songs.
I stuck it to the wall above my dresser and stared at it every morning, understanding that eventually the pain I was feeling would start to become bearable with time and the supposed sunshine would break through the clouds again.
Two weeks after my family’s sudden loss, I mustered up the strength to return to school using Springsteen as a shield. That first day back, I wore a T-shirt featuring one of his album covers — another gift from my dad — and kept my earbuds in nearly the whole day, cycling through his songs that brought me the most joy.
The song that meant the most to me was “I’ll See You In My Dreams,” a 2020 tune with lyrics like, “I’ll see you in my dreams / when all our summers have come to an end / we’ll meet and live and laugh again / for death is not the end.”
Another song that became a source of comfort for me was “You’re Missing” from Springsteen’s 2002 album The Rising. In it, Springsteen captures the profound emptiness left by the loss of a loved one with lyrics like, “pictures on the nightstand / TV’s on in the den / your house is waiting for you to walk in.”
Even though life carries on and everything seems unchanged, the absence of that person is felt every day by those who love them.
There are numerous other songs that resonated deeply with me, making me feel seen. With all that material in my back pocket, I started to feel whole again, little by little.
Grief is a real isolator, and Springsteen helped me feel a lot less alone. Not just with his music, but with his awareness raised for mental health.
The leader of the E-Street Band has suffered from depression since his 20s — and has been incredibly open about it. After my dad’s passing, I found myself in the same deep hole the singer talked about when he was at his lowest.
“You hit a wall where you simply don’t know what to do with the next day,” Springsteen said of his depression. “You’re completely at loose ends and you don’t know how to reconstruct your life.”
Springsteen has also stated he’s been in therapy for more than four decades. His openness about his struggles provided me the strength to ask for help in order to improve my mental health, and I’ve now been going to therapy for two years.
I was hesitant at first, but I thought that if The Boss did it, I could too.
I can say without a doubt that I wouldn’t be in my current position without Springsteen. His music was exactly what I needed then, and still is now.
Every time I listen to Springsteen, I’m reminded of my dad and the great times we shared discussing and enjoying his music together. I’m forever grateful for those memories — and for the ongoing reminders that Springsteen’s music brings.
Featured image by Jose Antonio Gallego Vázquez/Unsplash.
