Chapter 10: Rockstars & Sunsets
The first casualty of war.
The sun was starting its descent into the horizon line and I STILL hadn’t found the perfect spot to pull over. Honestly, I had no idea where in the hell we were or where I was going but I did know one thing: I was on the clock.
“Perhaps I should have planned this out better,” I thought to myself.
Things have a tendency of working out for me (even when I wing them), but this was a huge moment and I desperately wanted it to go accordingly.
By now my co-pilot suspected something unusual was going on. Sitting shotgun, Jamie finally asked me why I kept speeding up and then suddenly slowing down.
“Somethings wrong with the car,” I lied.
Once it became clear that the sun was not going to do an about face and reverse its course, I told myself that the next exit was going to have to do. It would soon be dark and this opportunity was slipping through my fingers like the sands of time.
“Damn that sun!” I accidentally cursed aloud.
Even more confusion on my girlfriends face. “What?”
Doubling down, I lied again. “Uh, I think I need to pull over. Somethings definitely wrong with the car.”
We were somewhere between Kansas City and St. Louis, that’s all the navigation I can give you. I tugged on the steering wheel and abruptly took the very next exit off of I-70. Down a gravel road we traveled until I realized we were approaching an old farmhouse. I stopped the vehicle well short of the agricultural ruin. Neither of us could discern if someone still inhabited it, and I really didn’t want to chance getting shot. Not today of all days. So I kept an eye out for spectators.
“Okay, I’m going to get out and see what’s going on. I think it’s the rear wheel.”
Bless her heart, Jamie didn’t know at that time that I knew nothing about cars.
I hopped out and went around to the back of my Escape, opened the hatch and pretended to get some “tools” out. In reality I was grabbing something else.
“Jamie, you’re going to want to see this! Come here!” I yelled as I was fondling something beneath the vehicle near the rear on the drivers side.
Around the back she appeared and found me on one knee. Rose petals surrounded us, a fierce red color popping off the white rocks.
“Look what I found!” I exclaimed as I pulled a little black box from the undercarriage.
She was super confused I could tell. I would later find out that she thought the rose pedals were actually roadkill and that I had hit an animal. Talk about your all-time backfires!
What was about to transpire began to slowly set in for her before becoming fully evident when I opened the little black box and presented a diamond ring to her.
I assume you know the question that followed and you certainly know her answer (if you’ve been reading), so let’s just skip to the part where we toasted champagne while watching that sunset turn from an orange hue to red to purple. It was perfect (aside from the “roadkill”).
Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, post proposal.
The big surprise however, awaited Jamie in St. Louis as both sets of parents were already there to greet us at our destination. The next night we celebrated and I even dusted off my telecaster to play a show at The Ready Room with an old band mate of mine.
Being on stage again warped me back to a seemingly distant time when making and performing music was my livelihood. After my college football days, I was a recording artist in the Gateway City. And, until recently, I continued to produce and play despite it not being my main focus anymore. But I never thought my proposal concert would be my final performance. That was four years ago now.
I always assumed that I would do another show. Every single year I would make it a goal to book one but I inevitably let family and business consume me. No, that’s not true. I was afraid it would not be good enough. And I always thought I had more time. Bad combination for bucket lists.
I put it off and put it off and now I have a disease that is going to take it off the table, most likely, forever. ALS already stole away my ability to sing. That was my very first symptom. Now, like the sun setting on my perfect proposal, I’m on the clock with my guitar as well. My hands are getting weaker by the day.
So shortly after my diagnosis, I brought my amp and guitar out of retirement once again, lugging it all the way upstairs from the basement (AC30’s are heavy ya’ll). I played for Iris and I played for Jamie. Most times though, I would just play for myself.
The feel of my tele in my hands brought me back to a magical time. That guitar and I traveled across the country together. So many shows. So many late night sessions. A lonely mans best friend at times.
When it became clear my dexterity was on the ropes, I had one final dance with my favorite instrument and said my goodbyes to that chapter of my life. It’s been the hardest page to turn so far with all of this.
I had visions of singing duets with Iris. Of playing that last show. Recording that last album. But I waited too long. And ALS came too early.
Two nights ago, over a zoom call, I was able to take a vivid stroll down memory lane with my old band, Full Day Affair. We talked about our crazy tours, our zany label executives, getting kicked out of our own shows, the songs that never made it onto our album and a host of antics I dare not share. The group decided we needed to somehow assemble to play “one more time.” I nodded in affirmation but deep down inside I was saddened because I knew I would be a mere spectator (maybe I could play the cowbell if the tempo wasn’t too prestissimo, I dunno).
Now I notice that I’m having lots of these little goodbye moments. Every day I’m losing parts of me I never thought could be taken. It does feel tragic but if I can circle back to my Silver Linings chapter, I do have a heightened sense of what matters most and what I still have time to accomplish. I may not be able to sing and play guitar, but I can still write. And I can still be a good father, even if I sing like a frog.
Let the record show that I was tremendously fortunate to have the opportunities I had with my music. Before my family, nothing made me happier. I’m at peace with it ending this way. But I won’t be caught off guard again if I can help it. That’s why I’m spending so much time being present with the people that mean the most to me and doing the activities that feel the most meaningful. No matter how imperfect the timing or execution. I implore you to learn from my mistakes and do the same. You still have time, but not as much as you may think.
There’s a link to a song I recorded with my bandmates that feels appropriate. It’s called “Angel.” I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it!