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The song is heartbreaking, especially the question, “Did you get enough love, my little dove?” I love all the terms of endearment, beautiful and strange: dove, hawk, dragonfly, Versailles, loon. There’s Carrie’s response when Stevens asks if he could have said something to resurrect her; “You do enough talk,” she replies. Still, Stevens’ voice as he sings the mother’s part is detached, resigned. Asking your child “Why do you cry?” from your hospital bed is about as stolid as it gets. Then too, offering up “we’re all gonna die” as a consolation feels removed as well. It’s true, but it isn’t comforting when dealing with grief.

The beauty of this song and the album rests in the mother’s charge: “Make the most of your life, while it is rife /  While it is light.”

Carpe diem messages, whether implicit or implied, are present in most works dealing with death. It is our imperative as a species to rail against death, to try and overcome it, and living life well is the best antidote we’ve come up with so far.

O Death

This mindfulness of death was a large part of my spiritual upbringing. My maternal grandfather died rather young, before I was born. In turn, my parents, and especially my mother, raised me with the understanding that we don’t know how long we have on earth and that a long life is not a guarantee for anyone. This wasn’t a bitter notion for her, and I don’t feel bitter or unduly frightened by it now.

Instead, I’ve focused on the parts of life that mattered most to me, that I knew I would regret most in the face of death. I think the answer is going to be different for every individual, but the question we should all be asking ourselves is, “How, today, can I live a life without regret?” For me, I wanted to lean in to my personal relationships. Accordingly, I married young, became a mother young, and live in my hometown near my parents. I am ambitious and hard working and hope to make a difference in the world beyond my own family, but I have prioritized relationships, and especially motherhood, above other aspects of my life. That’s just been the preference of my soul.

If I’ve learned anything from the umpteen parenting resources I’ve read or my last 2.5 years as a parent, it’s that children need a strong parental attachment, that it is of utmost importance to their mental and physical development. Children need to feel loved, need to feel confident that their parents will be around supporting and protecting them. I have loved (almost) every minute of motherhood, and consider raising a good human who will live on after me to be one of the greatest joys life could offer.

Which is why I think I find Carrie & Lowell so heartbreaking: it’s the story of a boy who yearns for that bond with his mother, and is mournful in the wake of her death.

Sufjan Stevens, in his late-30s, still sounds very much like a child when he speaks of his mother. Of course, he has always done a good job of writing about childhood. “The Predatory Wasp of the Pallisades is out to Get Us” is one of Stevens’ songs written deftly from the point of view of a child; “Casimir Pulaski Day” is effectively written from a teenage point of view. Stevens is able to slip into a childlike voice with more truth and less camp than most lyricists.  Still, I think the best example of this comes in “Eugene” off of Carrie & Lowell.

In this song, Stevens remembers one of his summers spent with his mother and step-father Lowell, a few years after she first left. Here are the memories, so precise but delivered in fragments: “Lemon yogurt, remember I pulled at your shirt/I dropped the ashtray on the floor/I just wanted to be near you.” There’s something very relatable about these lines, as Stevens so effectively conveys the vulnerability of childhood: he needs his mother and seeks attention from her through negative behavior. Later he sings, “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve/Where you hid your cigarettes,/ No, I’ll never forget/ I just want to be near you.” Stevens is still that little boy, craving the love of his mother.

We’re never shown that love on the album. The closest we get is his mother’s question about whether Stevens got enough love in “Fourth of July.” She says, “I’m sorry I left, but it was for the best, though it never felt right.” To leave your child when you feel they are better off without you is an act of love. It is a sacrifice that many parents must make for their children for any number of reasons. Still, Stevens seems uncertain that is the whole story: “I wonder did you love me at all,” he sings, in a moment that feels incredibly vulnerable.

Stevens is still seeking some sort of solace, some sort of comfort from his mother. She remains a largely elusive presence on the album.

Sufjan Stevens in live performance. Photo by Joe Lencioni.

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