The Impact of The Black Parade: How One Little Album Changed My Life

This is an open letter to My Chemical Romance, the band that, “…wants to save your life.” Hmmm… When I first heard that some years back, I found it to be a fairly impetuous, if not arrogant credo from a band that seemed to champion the Hot Topic_TM generation, even if it was totally unintentional.

Don’t get me wrong, I thought the music was great. I was totally down with Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, and if I was 17 at the time, I may have put some – maybe even all of my faith into that statement. Seventeen, however, had been survived and put down into the books of my boring history for quite some time. I was rapidly approaching what could very well be the halfway mark of my life as a woman in her mid-thirties.

I was way past being young and idealistic. My years of being a dreamer were long gone, and I was just another foot soldier marching through the rest of my mediocre existence in the “real world”. I was an over-educated professional stuck in a job I was hardly satisfied with. I had become jaded and broken down by life; my own problems – real or self-created – and my ever-growing disdain toward what seemed like…everything.

I couldn’t see how anything, let alone a band, however much I loved it, was ever going to save my life.  Well, it appears that My Chemical Romance was unknowingly going to teach me a lesson in the Never Say Never department.

In the late fall of 2006, I was driving out to hang with my oldest sister. I still liked to keep up with what was new on the rock/metal/alternative scene, so I was flipping through the radio stations. I came to one that announced they were going to play something new from My Chemical Romance.  I immediately heard rumblings of “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” in my head and remembered being more than amused by the video.  I was not prepared, however, for what I heard.

That was the first time I heard “Welcome to the Black Parade”, and I was blown away by the overwhelming grandeur of the song. It didn’t sound anything like what I had expected. I had goose bumps running down my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It had been a long time since I had had a physical response to a song.

I became consumed with having to listen to it, and within 48 hours, I had The Black Parade in my possession. I was delighted that I found something appealing in every track and enjoyed listening to the album from start to finish. All I could say to myself was Whoa….

So it was good, right? Well, it was great – at least I thought so, but that was that. I liked it and carried on with everyday life.  I never thought I would end up feeling like I must defend the honor of this record to naysayers. So, why does this album mean so much to me, you may ask. Well, maybe you don’t care, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Here’s the story of how one record had such a profound effect on my life.

I had lost my best friend of over 20 years to drugs and depression in 2004 – something I don’t think I’ll ever get over. This past October, my sister Michelle fought her final battle in a decade-long war against skin cancer. She was only 40, and she is gone. My family could only stand by and watch the disease ravage, rot, deform and slowly destroy her.

I would never, in a million years, say that dealing with cancer – be it victim, friend or family member – is easier for some than it is for others. NEVER. I do, however, feel it necessary to briefly talk about my sister. Michelle was not like any cancer victim I had ever known or heard of. You see, my sister was developmentally disabled. She was severely retarded, displayed signs of OCD, Tourette’s syndrome and autistic behavior. She had the cognitive reasoning ability of a child. A doctor could not sit her down and explain to her what was happening to her. She could not process that she was terminally ill.

The way that she behaved throughout most of her illness was very much the same as when she was not sick. When her health deteriorated, we could see that she didn’t understand why she was feeling the way she felt, why she couldn’t see and why she couldn’t eat. Neither my family nor I would ever be able to sit with her and help her deal with it and accept it. We would never be able to really say goodbye. It made living with what was happening to her a living Hell for my family, and I did my best to keep a poker face throughout.

One morning, prior to her death, I was sitting on the early train and thinking about my sister. At the time, we had only just learned that the disease had progressed and was likely spreading to her brain. The inevitable was closer than we thought.  Normally, I listened to music to get my mind off of the absolutely craptastic hand life had dealt her. My iPod happened to shuffle to “Disenchanted” off The Black Parade. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the reality that my sister was dying.

Now I have always had such good command over my emotions that I have once been accused of being an emotional atheist; however, I couldn’t stop it once it started. I sat there in front a train full of strangers with my face buried in my hands and cried on my way to work.

I pulled myself together once I got to my office and carried on with my day as if nothing had happened. I cheerfully chatted with other passengers on the train ride home. When I got home, I immediately headed to my stereo and lay on my bed and listened to The Black Parade from start to finish, and it was like listening to it for the first time.

Regardless of what the album was supposed to mean, I knew what it meant to me. I knew at the moment it ended with - I am not afraid to keep on living. I am not afraid to walk this world alone. Honey if you stay, I’ll be forgiven. Nothing you can say can stop me going home. – I was seeing what was happening differently. I wasn’t completely depressed. I was actually…hopeful. My sister’s death was inevitable; however, it was something to be embraced.

Having her in my life had definitely left its mark on me. I believe that knowing her had made me a better person – more open-minded, more tolerant of everyone’s differences and the uniqueness we all have to offer. Hers was a beautiful soul, and every time I listen to The Black Parade I am reminded of her and the way she touched my life and the lives of those around her. I am no longer sad that she’s gone, but grateful that she was here. My hope is that everyone can experience that gift that someone leaves you when they leave this earth.

So, now i must apologize and take back my initial statement calling this band impetuous or arrogant. Perhaps the statement regarding saving lives was merely a simple wish or hope. Five people, whom I am certain to never meet, connected with me for a moment in my life when I needed it to make me realize that I am human. It is okay to be sad and depressed over the things I will never be able to control. Death happens, and you don’t realize what it does to you until it is someone close to you that’s gone. To internalize and cage my emotions was only going to make me lose my mind. One album had enough of an impact to make me accept my sister’s death and see the beauty of her life. As far as I’m concerned, this is close enough to saving my life.

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