As always, I am struck with the memoir of the man in his music.
Everyone is asking today, "Where were you 30 years ago?" I was in bed just waking up when my husband John came into the bedroom. "It's all over the radio. John Lennon has been killed," he said.
Not the Beatles fan I was, although an admirer of his music, John had no idea what import those words carried for me that day. I think if he had, he might have been more subtle in telling me this news. Had there ever been a life without the Beatles? Now that life had ended.
"You know I love you baby please don't go . .."
Fourteen years later I would face another death ... not John Lennon's, but John Cavalieri, my husband, the man who understood me almost better than I understood myself. "Nobody knows but me. Who am I? No one else can see. Just you and me."
We confront our immortality through the loss of a loved one, whether a musician we never met but idolized, or the man who was husband and soul mate. In them, we find ourselves and the truth of our stories. In them we see "the wind in the trees, the clouds in the sky."
"I was dreaming of the past and my heart was beating fast."
So instead of grieving today, I listen to Lennon. I almost feel young again - or maybe it is hopeful. I hear his life, his truth and his courageous efforts to face reality. Thanks, John. It was a good ride . . . and still is.