(Scroll to the end for links to my previous 10 blog tributes to Joanna since her passing.)
There is much in life that is a matter of perspective, much that is open to interpretation, subject to our personal experience and understanding.
For instance, as much as many of us would like to enforce our religious dogma on others, much – probably most – of holy scripture is open to interpretation; it depends on context, the background and the circumstances in which the writer wrote, and even the background and circumstances of the reader.
Lately, I’ve taken the same approach to music. Since 2007, since Joanna and I bought her first Hyundai Santa Fe (it was replaced by another in 2017), we have enjoyed listening to Sirius Satellite Radio – and our favorite station has been Siriusly Sinatra. Frank is my favorite singer of all time, and I love the ‘Great American Songbook,’ the old standards sung by so many legendary artists.
I ultimately ‘converted’ Joanna to a love of this station. Her favorite singer was Anne Murray, but she and I both came to love hearing the wide variety of singers provided by Siriusly Sinatra.
One of our favorite games to play in the car was to – before looking at the dashboard display – figure out who the singer currently playing was. Some voices were easy, others not so much. Sometimes we agreed, but not always. We probably were about 50-50 in winning our disagreements.
In the 10 months (today) since Joanna passed away on Valentine’s Day, I’ve found myself finding a new, more personal, perspective on many of these songs. They’ve hit me where I live, and where I live is missing Joanna and remembering the love we shared for 48 years. I find myself suddenly getting choked up and tearing up at some of the lyrics I hear in these songs, as I put them in the context of my own experience since Joanna went to be with the Lord.
So I thought I’d share some of those in commemorating the 10th ‘monthsary’ of Joanna’s passing. Now you’ll probably say that I’m really stretching the point on some of these, and you’ll be right. But these have been my honest reactions as I’ve listened to some of these songs recently. Also, in almost all cases, it’s only a lyric here and there – not the entire song – that evokes this reaction in me.
Let’s begin with a quick bullet list of the six songs I’ve chosen to feature here:
- If, written and sung by David Gates, lead singer of Bread
- You’re the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me, written by Jim Weatherly; sung by Gladys Knight and the Pips
- Memories of You, written by Andy Razaf and Eubie Blake; sung by Frank Sinatra
- Our Love Is Here to Stay, written by Ira and George Gershwin; sung by Tony Bennett
- Just as Though You Were Here, written by Eddie DeLange and John Benson Brooks; sung by Frank Sinatra
- We’ll Meet Again, written by Hughie Charles and Ross Parker; sung by Frank Sinatra
Now let’s take a look at some of the lyrics that I’ve found meaningful in the context of where I find myself today in my own life. My discussion of each song is followed by a link to a YouTube recording. I hope you’ll not only read what I’ve written – especially the song lyrics – but also stop and listen to the songs. For those of my generation, these songs will really take you back . . . and some of you may find yourselves with lumps in your throat and tears running down your cheeks. I certainly have.
In If, David Gates, lead singer of Bread asks, If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can’t I paint you? The words will never show the you I’ve come to know.
If I had ever asked Joanna that, she would probably have laughed and replied, “Stick with the thousand words! You can write, but you CAN’T draw, much less paint!” Joanna was the painter. She left a gallery of her paintings displayed in the rotunda of the entryway in our house.
But David Gates was right . . . no words could ever fully describe the Joanna I came to know. He continues, If a man could be two places at one time, I’d be with you tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.
After Joanna passed away, I told people that we were truly part of each other and that a part of me went with her, and a part of her is still within me. That became much more real one evening early this fall; as I gazed at the photos of her and me that I’ve arranged on her dresser, a powerfully strong physical feeling came over me of the connection we shared, of how our hearts and minds were truly in synch. So yes, I often feel that I am two places at one time, as part of me is with her. Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.
From the day she met Joanna, my sister Patsy has told me that the best day’s “work” I ever did was asking Joanna to marry me (though Joanna always contended that I had never proposed to her – we will continue that ‘discussion’ when the Lord calls me home). True enough, Joanna was The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me, at the very center of my “life story,” and first thing every morning, I thank the Lord for blessing me with her love for 48 years. She has truly been there between each line of pain and glory.
Gladys Knight (with the Pips singing in the background) sings it beautifully: If anyone should ever write my life story, for whatever reason there might be, you’ll be there between each line of pain and glory ’cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.
As with any marriage lasting over four decades, Joanna and I had our “ups and downs” (which Gladys also mentions), loving and caring for each other through painful times of loss and illness – of our own and of loved ones. Gladys continues, Oh, there have been times when times were hard, but always somehow I made it, I made it through, ‘cause for every moment that I’ve spent hurting there was a moment that I spent just loving you. So true.
Joanna is never out of my mind these days; everywhere I go, everything I do, I see Joanna. After all, in 48 years we went everywhere together, did everything together. When I walk to the bedroom, I still expect to see her sitting in the recliner in which she spent so many hours; in the car, I expect to look to my right and see her smiling at me from the passenger seat; when I go to the church we loved for the last 16½ years of her life, I see her sitting next to me in the pew; our favorite restaurants, the movie theater, and especially when our family gathers together.
Frank Sinatra understands this phenomenon as he sings Memories of You: Waking skies – at sunrise, every sunset, too, seems to be bringing me memories of you. Here and there – everywhere – scenes that we once knew, and they all just recall memories of you. . . . Your face beams in my dreams, ‘spite of all I do, and everything seems to bring memories of you.
When you share a love for 48 years, form a family, build a relationship in which the other’s happiness is the fondest desire for each of you, it will surmount any obstacle, even death. Our love didn’t end with Joanna’s passing. She’s still the love of my life and always will be. Heaven is a mystery. Scripture doesn’t provide a lot of details. Jesus said there would be no marriage in heaven.
However, I’m firmly convinced that the relationships – the closest ones, especially, of family and close friends – will continue in heaven. Our relationship will be different in some sense, but Joanna and I will still love each other and share memories of our life together here. I believe that.
In 2010, Joanna and I saw Tony Bennett, one of Frank’s closest friends, perform in concert at the Meyerson in Dallas. Of all the many, many concerts and shows Joanna and I attended over our almost five decades together, Tony’s concert was my favorite. He has performed probably every song in the Great American Songbook, including the classic Our Love Is Here to Stay. And it is!
It’s very clear, our love is here to stay, not for a year, but ever and a day. The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know may just be passin’ fancies and in time may go. But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay. Together we’re goin’ a long, long way. In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble, they’re only made of clay, but our love is here to stay.
Daddy lived for 10 years after Mother – his wife of 59 years – passed away in 1997. I remember him telling us that he talked to her regularly after her passing.
Now I understand.
I talk to Joanna all the time.
When our pastor, George Mason, and I spoke on the phone a few days before the inurnment of Joanna’s cremains in the Columbarium of our church, Wilshire Baptist in Dallas, on Easter Sunday, George told me that he believed Jesus’s death and resurrection freed Him to be anywhere with anyone at anytime and that Joanna – now “in Christ’s risenness,” as he so beautifully put it – was free in the same way. So he hoped I would be able to sense Joanna’s presence when going to the places we loved, doing the things Joanna loved doing and that we loved doing together, and watching others do the things that remind me of Joanna (especially helping, serving, and loving people).
I’m still working on that, I admit, but I speak to her all the time. I ask her to accompany me to church and other places. Before I go to bed each night, I walk over to her dresser, look at the photos of her and of the two of us together, rub her thumbprint that is engraved in the pendant that contains a few of her ashes, and tell her how much I love her and miss her. I hope she hears me, at least part of the time.
Truth be told, I’ve had a hard time accepting that Joanna isn’t coming back in this life. In fact, I really haven’t accepted it. My head knows it isn’t going to happen, but my heart keeps expecting her to be sitting in the bedroom when I walk in, or changing clothes in the bedroom closet when it’s time to go to church, or greeting me at the door from the garage to the kitchen when I arrive home from the store. When I think of places I’d like to travel, it takes a moment before I remember that Joanna isn’t here anymore to go with me, and the allure of travel suddenly fades – just wouldn’t be as much fun without her by my side.
I’m still trying to honor her with my life, my caring for our family, my treatment of the house that she and I built in 2008, the house in which I can still see her in every nook and cranny. In other words, I live just as though she were here.
Frank Sinatra, in Just as Though You Were Here, seems to understand this as he sings: I’ll wake each morning, and I’ll promise to laugh. I’ll say good morning to your old photograph, and I’ll speak to you, dear, just as though you were here. . . . So don’t be afraid that distance and time will finally tear us apart. The farther you go, the longer you stay, the deeper you’ll grow in my heart. Each night before I wander off into sleep, I’ll bring to light the tears I’ve buried so deep. Then I’ll kiss you, my dear. And though you’re gone, my love for you goes on, darling, just as though you were here.
My eternal hope is in Jesus, who promised, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” (John 14:1-3, NIV) I’m taking Him at His word.
When my kids, Alison and Travis, and I placed the box containing Joanna’s cremains into the niche in the Columbarium (where mine will one day join hers), I whispered, “I love you, Babe. I’ll see you soon.”
We’ll Meet Again, like all of these, is a secular song, so it wasn’t written as a testimony to our eternal hope, but this post is about what these songs have said to me personally when I have heard them in the 10 months since Joanna’s passing.
As the song says, I don’t know when. Don’t know where? Well, I know it will be in the presence of God, it will be in heaven, but again, we don’t know a lot of details about that. Anyway, if those three words bother you, ignore them. The point is in the title: We’ll Meet Again.
Frank Sinatra sings, We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day. So keep smiling through just like you always do, ’till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away. So will you please say hello to the folks that I know . . . tell them I won’t be long. They’ll be happy to know that, as you saw me go, I was singing this song: We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.
There’s one more song – not included in the bullet list above – that I just have to mention here. I don’t remember hearing it lately on Siriusly Sinatra, but it’s the song that Joanna and I – somewhat jokingly – referred to as “our song.” That’s because, in the first year or two that we were dating, we often ate at Pizza Hut on Kickapoo, across from the OBU campus. They had a jukebox in there, and it seemed like every time we were there, the song Seasons in the Sun, performed by Terry Jacks – a big hit at that time – was playing. It happened so often that we started calling it “our song.”
Truthfully, most of the lyrics wouldn’t begin to apply to us. But there’s a little bit of it that just might. Terry Jacks sings, Goodbye Michelle, my little one, you gave me love and helped me find the sun, and every time that I was down, you would always come around and get my feet back on the ground. Goodbye Michelle, it’s hard to die, when all the birds are singing in the sky. Now that the spring is in the air with the flowers everywhere, I wish that we could both be there.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun, but the wine and the song, like the seasons have all gone. All our lives we had fun, we had seasons in the sun, but the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time.
My previous 10 blog tributes to Joanna since her passing on February 14:
12/1/21 – 12/1/81, a great day as we became parents for the first time . . . Alison turns 40!
11/14/21 – Journeying with Joanna . . . Photo memories from a half-century (almost) of our travels together
9/14/21 – Pictures, pictures, pictures . . . remembering my wonderful trip with Joanna to Hong Kong, Beijing, and Macao 10 years ago this week
9/4/21 – Joanna and I were married 45 years ago today . . . Missing her and celebrating her
8/14/21 – Six months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering her humor and all that she meant to me
7/14/21 – Five months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering the lively soul who brought us joy
6/14/21 – Four months after Joanna’s passing . . . a few personal reflections
3/19/21 – Joanna spoke out against demeaning racial slurs and the fears they caused her as an Asian-American
2/22/21 – How Joanna and I got together . . . the beginning of our love story
2/19/21 – The painful journey that took the love of my life, Joanna . . . to the great heavenly banquet
Wonderful, poignant, and creative!