I hope it's ok that this month's FuMP submission is actually two songs stuck together as one, and that only half of it is funny.
In 2002 I became an uncle for the second time, to a nephew named Sachio. He was the happiest, most calm and even-tempered child I've ever encountered. Just all smiles, all the time. I didn't see him or his sister that much, as they lived far away, but with each visit he became more and more interesting and fun and inspiring. For his third birthday I parodied a Van Morrison song for Sachio, and that's the first half of today's offering. In 2005 I made a CD of that song, and that CD still has a proud place in the upstairs bathroom of their home in Georgia.
As I write this, Sachio is 24 and in hospice care, at home with his parents. His sister has come for the summer to be with them, along with her wife. I'm visiting every few weeks. In September 2025 Sachio was diagnosed with a Malignant Peripheral Nerve Sheath Tumor. It's a terribly aggressive cancer, which becomes so entangled in so many healthy organs that it becomes very hard to treat. Six months of chemo barely slowed its growth, and in April 2026 Sachio decided that quality of life was more important than quantity. I've written quite a bit about Sachio over the past year, but it was personal and not for public eyes or ears.
Now it's fathers day weekend. I'm visiting with them in Georgia, and alternately feeling like it's good that I'm here, and then that I'm an additional burden being here, and then that it doesn't matter one way or the other. We keep breathing and watching tennis and watching world cup soccer and eating and sleeping... trying to keep this brave and doomed young man comfortable and comforted as the clock ticks.
***
Sachio died at 4 am on Friday June 26, 2026. The hole he left is immeasurable.
The second half of today's offering probably isn't comforting. I can do music pretty well, and I can do comedy pretty well... but neither seems to be of any value for my family (or for anyone else) in the face of incurable cancer. I've found that making things helps me process and deal with the pain and the isolation and the helplessness, so I've kept at it. It was helpful to me to make something "pretty" or "melodic" out of all this monumental unfairness. It was helpful to beat the hell out of the drums, and to turn this up really loud. And, having played it for a few close friends, I think it might actually have some merit. And maybe even some value for those who are grieving. Who knows? The main thing I've noticed is that pretty much anything is okay to say or do when the outcome is certain and awful. Very little judgement has been shown lately. So here goes.
Sachio was violinist and a guitarist and a saxophonist and a singer. I wish I could say that we played music together, but for some reason that only happened a few times, very casually. We never composed anything together, and we never recorded anything. He played music with his sister, and with his father, and with his school orchestra, and later with his band "The Drapes." A few years ago I invited him and his band to come up to Nashville and do some recording, but that never happened. And that makes me profoundly sad.
For this song, I composed the finger-picked instrumental bit upstairs in Sachio's room, while Sachio and his parents were sleeping in the basement room that had become Sachio's hospice ward. Sachio's room was (and will remain) full of his awards and sports posters and lots of things he'd collected in 24 years. As I worked on the song, I thought, "I'm in his bedroom, and he'll never see this room again." And I tried to put that big sadness into the music.
In the original "Sachio" song from 2005, I enlisted the saxophone talents of Michael Duncan in Los Angeles. For the second, newer part, I wanted to have a violin, so I asked Tim Lorsch to provide that in Nashville, and he kindly agreed. Everything else you hear is me.
Two individual songs compose this whole. My hope is that together they kind of bookend a life lived well, even if it was much too short. I hope people can relate to the pain and overwhelmingness of life and death, and that they think of the awesome gift that we all get for a short while. I hope the "god works in mysterious ways" people will see another perspective, as this song does not let any god off the hook. I hope this does something for someone. I'm just putting it all out there. Doing my best, whether it's sufficient or not.
Many thanks to my brother Adam Goodie, his wife Chinami Goodie, their daughter Sara Goodie, and of course Sachio himself. You have each shown inspiring strength and love through all the good times and bad.
You can see Sachio's obituary here.
And you can see a video of this song, a slideshow, here.
"Sachio"
Music: Van Morrison
Words, guitars, drums, bass, keyboards, vocals, arrangement, production: SG
Saxophones: Michael Duncan
"My Brother's Son"
Music, words, guitars, pedal steel guitar, piano, bass, drums, vocals, arrangement, production: SG
Violin: Tim Lorsch
Helpful help: Stephen DeBonrepos and Niamh Bagnell
