I'm here and my book will be soon
A love of music was one of the greatest things my late husband Kevin and I shared. Among our first dates were concerts and we told each other in detail about the shows we’d seen separately. Growing up in Detroit, music was inextricably part of our lives, from Motown to Bob Seger and Iggy Pop. When eventually we married and combined our record collections, we found several duplicates. I still had a place in my heart for 70’s stadium rockers like Queen and Elton John, while Kevin had moved on to the Clash and Elvis Costello. We both became fans of the other’s favorites. Through our twenty-six years together, we developed a deep love for the music of John Hiatt, Warren Zevon, and Johnny Cash among many others. Over the course of our marriage, we saw over a hundred live shows, everyone from the Rolling Stones to David Bowie, to the Platters and the Drifters.
It made perfect sense then, when Kevin was diagnosed with cancer, that he would turn to music for comfort and strength. Hour after interminable hour spent with a chemotherapy drip, or minute after dangerous minute with a radiation beam inching along his spine and brain stem, Kevin would put the earbuds on and tune-in to his favorite songs. By the second diagnosis, he had used his blog to ask for other’s suggestions and he listened to them all.
It had once been a dream of mine to write for a music publication, though I never really developed the courage to do so. I had a deep love of music and musicians but didn’t have the courage to seek out stories or demand to be let backstage. Like the high school athlete faced with a career-ending injury, I wondered what I could possibly do with myself if I didn’t pursue the career I’d wanted since childhood. But Kevin was there, assuring me that there were many things I could do as a writer. So instead of rock music, I ended up in public relations with dreams of marriage and children replacing those of interviews with Mick Jagger.
After Kevin died, I found myself doing significant soul-searching once again. Within five years, I had lost my husband and both my parents. I watched my children become self-sufficient young adults. I sold the house we had built together. I began to ask myself about my purpose, my identity; what did I really want to do now. I knew I would find my purpose in writing.
In December of 2012, two years after Kevin’s passing, as I listened to the radio on the anniversary of John Lennon’s assassination, there was discussion of his widow, Yoko Ono. I quickly realized that I had a new perspective on what Yoko had accomplished in the years since her husband’s death. There must be others, I thought. Other women like me left to figure out who they would become after the man to whom they were so connected passed away. It didn’t take long for me to discover a list of remarkable women.
Finding these women has allowed me to find myself. It has brought me full circle, back to writing about music, but also writing about those strong souls who carried on despite the loss of all that meant anything to them. Though they often see themselves as “keepers of the flame” they are so much more. They have taught me about love, legacy and speaking your own truth. And they’ve shown me how to celebrate, grow, and live again as a widow and a woman.