1997: Searching for Stars in the Darkness

Brandon Hart: 1997

I heard 1997 by Brandon Hart for the first time with my husband just a few years back. I hadn’t expected it to hit me the way it did. This song wasn’t part of my current soundtrack. It wasn’t a song that had shaped my life or carried me through the years. It was a fresh discovery, yet it transported me back in time, back to the ache and confusion of 1997.

The song swept me back to my youth, back to a time of extreme change and heartbreak. It’s a song of raw, aching nostalgia, but also one of quiet healing. It floods me with heavy memories, but also seems to carry the light that came after.

In 1997, the world felt like it was unraveling at the seams. My family had just gone through the intense trauma of my parents divorce. My brother and I, barely old enough to grasp the depth of what was happening, were caught in the whirlwind of it all. We were pulled from Texas to North Carolina, from the familiar to the foreign, from stability to uncertainty.

 I still remember, in the midst of all the madness, the peace I found in music. It became my companion, my escape, and in the middle of a time of heaviness that felt endless, music became my light in the darkness. 

We lived with my grandmother, Nanny. She was such a bright star in my world, the one person who made everything feel okay, even when life didn’t make any sense. She was magic so full of grace, warmth, and beauty. I loved her deeply—she was more than family. She was my safe place, my friend, and when she passed away in 1997—everything shattered in ways I couldn’t yet understand.

 I found her early in the morning, her body wracked with spasms, her eyes rolling back in her head in a way that made her look almost unrecognizable—like something out of The Exorcist. (Massive stroke and heart attack) I rushed to wake my brother, and we stood together terrified and shaking as he called 911, but the hospital couldn’t save her. She was gone. That moment, that loss, became a defining point in my life. I was so small, yet the weight of that moment made me feel like the world was crumbling.

The grief that followed was suffocating. The world we had built in North Carolina was already starting to fall apart. My brother and I were separated of and on again after her death—he went to stay with friends or Dad, and my mother and I stayed with others. It was as if everything that had kept us together was suddenly ripped apart, and I found myself lost in the silence, disconnected it seemed from everything I had ever known.

As soon as I fall into this song I am thrown back into my past—the confusion, the tragedy, the pain. The song takes hold of me like a vortex of memories, back to my youth, where every day felt uncertain and unstable. Leaving me in the wake of how blessed I am to have my husband and best friend by my side. I didn’t even realize how much I needed to hear these lyrics until they burned deep beyond my ears.

The music it’s like a portal— It’s like the past and present collide, I don’t just feel the echoes of my past—I hear the promise of my future. The weight of the years mixing with the hope of what’s to come—it’s a living part of my ongoing story. Each note a thread that ties together the pain of my youth with the love I’ve found in my husband.

“I don't care where we're goin'

As long as you're with me

I'll never feel like I'm all alone

Don't care where we're movin'

If we're together

It'll always feel like we're at home”



 And as it plays, through the pain I feel the warmth of the light at the end of the tunnel, the comfort of knowing that, no matter what we face, we’ll always have each other and not all days are dark days. Jamie you are my brightness… I love you so!