I (Andrea) don’t know what sentence is supposed to come after that.
I wanted to talk about this, because his death is important to me (and to Frankie, too). His death ends a significant part of my childhood. Some people heard him on the radio. I grew up listening to him. Endlessly. He was there for all the good times, the bad times, the fun times. He was there driving down the highway on a sunny day. He was there on a lonely evening. His albums were scattered everywhere around me. In college I had a five foot tall poster (yeah, just about life size!) in my dorm room. His concerts were amazing.
When the person that’s “with you” in those formative years of your life dies, all those dreams you dreamed, all those futures you created when you were listening - they all start to fall apart. Because, for the first time, that beautiful, happy past of hopes and wishes crumbles. And it starts to make you realize that those dreams aren’t going to last either.
The things that are behind you start to fall away, and you begin to realize you’re older. When our heroes and idols and connections from the past die, our past, that little nook we keep in our brain of those happy times, it begins to die. And it begins to push us forward in the now. It forces us to look forward into the actual future. There’s no more fondly remembering and dreaming. There’s only you looking forward and what you’re going to do, because there’s not much time left.
You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. This might be the last blog I type. As you read this, maybe someone is mowing me over in the Kroger parking lot. None of us know what will happen next, but we should all be making the most of it and actively pursuing those things we want out of life.
Frankie and Andrea take turns sharing stories. Just good talk over a cup of coffee.