Dear John….

I nJohn 2ever knew you, yet your presence has always been felt.  Words were woven together with beguiling melodies.  Words were sung that you lived by and that you died by.

I recall that eventing 32 years ago when I came home and turned on the T.V. with the news declaring “John Lennon has been shot.”  Shortly after this statement would come the admission “John Lennon has been declared dead…”

Those words were a knife to my heart and I stood shaking my head in denial as the tears errupted and as the story evolved, you slipped from this world, John.

Such a beautiful, prolific man.  Your music now the gift that remains, timeless, relevant, hauntingly intense and then so simple.

Images assaulted the mind’s eye that evening.  Memories of your first introduction to the Americas all those years before to that day in early December 1980.

Foolish I know to contemplate what might have been or where your music would have taken us.   I can’t change what happened to you, John, though I wish I could wave my hand and still have you among the living.

You were and still are so deeply loved.  The gift you gave us remains as powerful and relevant as when the strains of each note were first given voice.

Music.  The universal language that all beings understand will always remain.

John 1And I wonder what you would think of the world order that exists today.  Oh John, it seems that for a time we were all onto something so good and beautiful.  Then it just seemed to slip away.  Now I don’t know where we are heading.   A song will filter over the air waves, ‘Long, long ago…was it in a dream…was it just a dream?…’

And I feel the tears push at theback of my eyes seeking escape.

The loss is still so sorely felt.

And I wonder John, what would you have thought of the internet.  Would you have embraced Facebook and Twitter?

Sometimes I think about sitting and chatting with you and discussing all the curious ramblings that move through this head of mine.

It doesn’t matter now because it cannot happen.

Yet this date always reminds me of not only what we lost but who we lost.  And I guess it was the manner by which you were taken and all that you stood for that seems to be the sticking point.

If your’re somewhere in spirit, John, gazing down or up or sideways, let me just say your are missed.  Then again, I am sure you are aware of that fact.  Amazing to me the impact of one life.  It resonates still, the dream, the hope, the vision.

When I was in New York last year and I stood at the Dakota’s entrance where your life was lost, such a deep and profound saddness hung like a weighted cross on the place.

How many have come before me and how many will come after?  It is this weird tribute that I feel has someone who appreciated your music and its meaning that I must somehow pay homeage to, somehow pay respect?


Perhaps it is just a testement to your gift that you shared with us…I don’t know.

But I want you to know John, how much you moved me.

So many songs made their way into a heart and soul that was naked and raw.  Your words were a balm that cooled and gentled and offered insight, hope and an identity.

I was not alone in my hurt.  I was not alone with my tears.  Your music absorbed and acknowledged the pain I felt at that time.

Oh John, what would you think of the world I see before me now?  Are we missing the mark or is it just me?

The biggest impact that your music had for me and most likely for others as well was your humanness.  Some songs felt as though they had been written just for me, though I knew this not to be the case, they touched me on such a personal level.

Like a gentle whisper, the soft refrains bound themselves forever in my heart, forever in my soul, forever in my life.

I will leave this bar now and make my way home, John.  I will play ‘Double Fantasy’ which I had purchased just prior to your death.  And I will likely cry, as so many of us will this day.

I am watching men with funny hats knock a small white ball into a hole (aka Golf) and they get paid an enourmous amount of money to do this.


They are dressed in crisp, clean clothes.   Several of the golfers are soft in the middle.  Yes, such a strange game.  On another screen there are men that stand between 6 to 7 feet in height and they are slamming a ball into a netted basket.

Strains of a weird country song competes with the hum of conversation that buzzes incessantly throughout the place.

Laughter errupts and six T.V.’s flash various sports at me.  A mantle is decked with Christmas lights and fire dances in the fireplace. The windows of the bar have been painted with seasonal festivites.

I am alone, ruminating on the words I want to express.

The camera does a panoramic pass over of an artifical landscape that somehow makes me feel detached.

And all I can think that I would like to say John, is that I love you  and I miss you.


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