Draw You Out: Carrying Sofia With Me

Draw You Out: Carrying Sofia With Me

I have shared before how much Noah Kahan’s music means to me. His music has felt therapeutic—sometimes soothing, sometimes heartbreaking, and often both at once. But before “Draw You Out,” I had not connected as deeply with his lyrics.

This song gave language to things I have been carrying since we lost Sofia. It is not my story, and I do not want to suggest that every line was written for me. But certain words landed in places I did not expect. They gave shape to grief, anxiety, exhaustion, love, and the ongoing effort to keep Sofia’s memory alive.

The first chorus

The opening chorus immediately connected with my experience of grief. I hear a promise to keep someone’s memory alive by remembering them, speaking their name, and carrying them forward into the rest of your life. That is what I have tried to do for Sofia.

I am desperate to keep her memory alive. I worry that other people will forget her, and I even worry that my own memories will lose their detail over time. I do not want Sofia’s life to become a summary. I want to remember the specifics that made her who she was.

That is why it means so much when someone says her name, shares a memory, or makes space for her in conversation. I often feel alone in my grief, but sharing memories of Sofia with others creates a sense of connection and makes that loneliness feel lighter.

The places in the chorus also resonate with me. I think of the hospital, the park bench where Sofia spent one of her final healthy moments with her papa, the grass patch across from our old home, and the cemetery where her niche is. Sometimes I return physically. Other times I return through photos, videos, and deep reflection.

The first verse

The first verse feels like an expression of how profoundly grief has changed my identity. I have changed so much since Sofia died that it can be difficult to remember who I was before all of this. Some parts of my past feel distant, almost as if they belong to someone else.

That change has not been entirely negative. Grief has made me more empathetic and has given me opportunities to help others through Hope in Every Spot. But there is also a weight in my life now that did not exist before.

The song’s image of conflicting anger and strength feels accurate too. I want to shut down sometimes, but my resilience usually wins. That resilience does not come without fury, exhaustion, or anger. I keep going because I have people I love, responsibilities I care about, and a desire to honour Sofia through how I live.

The idea of waiting for freedom also reaches somewhere tender. I know that my life will eventually end, as every life does, but I do not fear that reality in the same way I once might have. I find comfort in believing that death may bring me back to Sofia. That is not a wish to leave this life early; it is simply a belief that makes the reality of mortality feel less frightening.

The verse also captures the feeling of being stuck. The boring joke and descending note feel connected to the way grief, anxiety, and depression can make life feel repetitive and heavy. I was recently diagnosed with severe anxiety and moderate depression, and I do not think those challenges exist separately from my grief. Grief can feel like a parachute on my back when I am trying to run. I may still be moving, but everything requires more effort.

I have time I never planned to have. No parent expects to lose a child, and I was not prepared for a future without Sofia. I feel anxious about the years ahead, especially after some difficult periods where I have wondered how much more I can take.

But this time has also changed me. It has made me more empathetic and created opportunities to help families facing childhood cancer. I would give anything not to have learned those lessons this way, but I want to use the years I have to honour Sofia.

The wing-clipped-bird image captures the gap between my intentions and my capacity. I want to show up for my family, do meaningful work, and keep Sofia’s memory alive. But anxiety, depression, grief, and exhaustion can make it difficult to access the energy needed to do those things.

The song’s suggestion that a voice is not truly heard until everyone is shouting also reminds me how lonely grief can be. Even while Sofia was receiving treatment, the world continued around us. There were moments when everyone stopped and noticed—the day she died, her celebration of life, anniversaries, and Hope in Every Spot events—but much of grief remains private.

The second chorus

When the chorus returns, it feels like a reminder that grief does not remove the promise. I carry Sofia even through anger, depression, anxiety, and uncertainty.

Hope in Every Spot has given Sofia’s memory a living presence. It keeps me connected to the hospital and creates opportunities to support children and families facing childhood cancer.

Recently, students at Carter’s elementary school ran the Terry Fox Run. Many ran in honour of Sofia, while others ran for Hope in Every Spot. Seeing so many students carry her memory in some way was incredible.

It reminded me that even when grief feels private, Sofia’s story is not invisible. Her name is still being spoken. Her life is still reaching people.

Verse 2

The second verse connects less directly to a literal house and more to a loss of identity. I do not always feel like myself, and I cannot seem to find my way back to who I was before Sofia died.

Because the verse is written in the past tense, it also reminds me of living in our previous home. It was strange to be in the same spaces where Sofia had lived while she was no longer there. The house was full of her absence.

The river feels like the small moments where I find temporary shelter: sitting in the car before driving home from work, taking a lonely walk, or spending time alone at night. I use those moments to distract my mind, rest, and prepare for what comes next.

I do not feel settled right now. Grief feels permanent, and sadness comes often. Work has affected my anxiety significantly, and I regret not having more time with my family. I want to create better conditions, but I do not yet know how.

The rain over the valley makes me think about how grief can remain hidden for a while, even when it is affecting everything inside you. I often wonder how long I can keep my vulnerabilities from the people closest to me. Most people know I carry grief, but very few understand how much anxiety and depression affect me throughout every day. When the whole world becomes wet, the private weather becomes impossible to hide.

We will all experience grief eventually, but the intensity of losing a child is difficult to explain to someone who has not lived it. In that sense, I understand the songwriter’s feeling that the drowning might finally make more sense when others can see the water too. For me, drowning feels like being tempted to surrender—not to give up on life, but to stop fighting the current for a while.

I often struggle to find words for grief and mental-health challenges. That is one reason I connect so strongly with how the songwriter describes drowning. Sometimes it is the only word that feels accurate. There is no better word for it.

The final chorus

By the final chorus, I hear acceptance.

I have incredible memories, beautiful photos and videos, purpose, and gratitude. But I do not have Sofia. That is what makes the line about having only a name resonate so intensely.

Nothing can replace her presence. The memories matter because they are precious, but they are not enough to fill the space she left behind.

Still, saying her name brings her close. It reminds me that she was real, that her life mattered, and that she still matters.

The final wordless section feels like exhaustion and release. There are no more words to explain the grief. The music simply holds it.

I love this song, and I hope others will take the time to listen to “Draw You Out.” Noah Kahan’s music has been therapeutic for me for a long time. This is the first time I have felt so directly connected to his lyrics.

If you know someone who is grieving, do not be afraid to say the name of the person they lost. You do not need perfect words. Sometimes, saying their name is enough.

This photo was taken on April 10th  Sofia would pass away on April 14th. This is one of those places I show up unannounced. She looks so happy here. So full of hope. I can’t believe we lost her so soon after.