When The Music Stops:

Nontraditional Grief, Family Clarity, and Musical Continuance

By ThinkTimm – WDMN Nation / Why Make Music...

Grief doesn't always show up in the ways people expect. Sometimes, it slips in gently. Quiet. Steady. Predictable. And then it leaves just as quietly, like a final note held too long. For me, the music stopped on June 5, 2025, when my grandmother, Emma Delores, passed away.

She was 94. Wise. Fierce. Funny. Practical. The last of her generation in our family. A woman with a strong spirit and a mind that stayed sharp right up until dementia slowly pulled her from us over her final months. She passed in peace. In silence. And for us, her family, that silence became a moment to reflect, not perform. A moment to live out what she asked of us: no homegoing service, no casket, no pomp. Just remembrance, love, and music.

This post isn’t a eulogy. It’s a breakdown. A real one. About what happens when you honor the nontraditional wishes of a Black matriarch. About how you deal with cultural tension in the absence of ceremony. About caregiving, clarity, and the question at the center of our podcast and our movement: Why Make Music?

The Request

Grandmom made it plain: she wanted to be cremated, no service. No viewing. No big church send-off. She’d say, "I’ll be mad at y'all from heaven if you waste money on a big fancy funeral." She wasn’t cold. She was just clear. She lived her life her way, and she wanted her death to be the same. My mom (Donna), Uncle Stretch, and I respected that.

But not everyone understood.

The Pushback

In African-American culture, funerals are for the people left behind. Homegoings, sermons, gospel music, communal meals – they help us process loss together. So when we didn’t have that? Some cousins called it disrespectful. Said they had no closure. That there was no "place" to grieve. But Grandmom had been declining for six months. That was our goodbye. For those of us caring for her daily, feeding her, repositioning her, watching Game Show Network with her—we said goodbye every day.

Living with Her

She spent her two and a half years in our home in Elkins Park, PA. We built her a room that mirrored her old apartment. She had a recliner, TV, her own setup. We fed her. Talked to her. Lisa, my wife, led the care. I followed her lead. Our kids – Syrus and Sydney – gave her joy. Our dogs sat by her bed. Uncle E (Microphone Mover 101) cracked jokes to make her laugh. That was her last chapter: love and light. Not isolation.

The Aftermath

Extended family didn’t all agree. Some pushed for a service. We said, "Feel free to honor her in your own way." My uncle might host a cookout to celebrate her. That’s cool. But us? We respected her plan.

And that plan wasn’t rejection of faith or culture. It was evolution. A private kind of peace. A remix of the tradition, with the same soul.

Logic and Loss

I grieve logically. I’m not the crying type. No sackcloth or ash. I process through thought, structure, and quiet reflection. Lisa balances that. She reminds me to check in, to feel, to respond. She supported me and my mom. She reminded me to confirm Grandmom’s wishes over and over. She stood firm. She cooked. She led. And Grandmom adored her for it. Probably ranked her higher than me!

Music and Memory

When the music stopped, I returned to mine. I went to the studio. Reworked beats. Revisited old melodies. I wasn’t trying to write a song about her – but maybe I will. Because music holds the unspoken. It carries grief in ways conversation can’t. It lets you sit in your emotions, without explanation.

Teddy Pendergrass has a whole new meaning to me now. My grandmother loved him. So did my mom. That man’s music makes sense in a way it didn’t before. It’s intimate. Raw. True.

A Celebration, Reframed

We didn’t throw a funeral. But we had a graduation party for my son. Family came. People shared stories. Food was passed. Grandma would’ve loved that. Because she wanted us to keep living. Keep making music. Keep moving forward. The tradition didn’t stop. It just changed shape.

Why Make Music... After Loss?

Because the silence isn’t the end. It’s just a pause before the next track. We make music because grief needs rhythm. Because absence echoes. Because our elders taught us that even when the party’s over, you carry the tune in your chest.

Grandmom’s melody lives on. Through my mother. Through Uncle Stretch. Through my kids. Through me.

Find this episode on all streaming platforms, and follow us at:

And don’t miss our ongoing series: Why Make Music: The Producers, where we spotlight the architects of sound – from Tay Keith to WondaGurl, Jack Antonoff to Sly Stone.

When the music stops, keep humming.

Until next time,
ThinkTimm ⚡️ DJ Warm Cookies#WDMNNation #WhyMakeMusic #ThinkTimm #GriefRemix #Episode039