That would be my grief group, I decided: the wives of rock stars who died young. On the anniversary of John Lennon’s death, I heard a radio story about Yoko Ono and all she had accomplished in the years since. When my therapist encouraged me to start my own group, I pondered who that might be. I honored their losses, but their lives were different from mine.
Grief groups were filled with sweet women in their seventies and eighties. Shortly after Kevin died, I knew I needed to find other young widows. The copies of “Excitable Boy” and “Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School” numbered four. After multiple break-ups and make-ups, we permanently combined our record collections. I was the first girl Kevin dated who knew Zevon beyond his hit, “Werewolves of London.” He was surprised that I actually owned Warren’s records. He was a musician and songwriter we both loved. On the occasion of this anniversary, I select “Hasten Down the Wind,” by Warren Zevon. Instead, it was my failed attempt at being a music writer in the 1980s that spurred me to take on this newest project.
HASTEN DOWN THE WIND ZEVON LYRICS HOW TO
I explain that he wasn’t, though he regretted not knowing how to play an instrument. When I tell people about the book I’m writing, they often ask if Kevin was a musician. We curated playlists on our phones toward the end, those were filled with songs that others had suggested to get him through the roughest parts of chemotherapy and radiation, or another surgery. Our lives were often centered around music-playing on the stereo system wired throughout our renovated farmhouse our first date was to a concert.
Each year, I acknowledge the date by posting memories and updates along with a link to a favorite song. It is the tenth anniversary of my husband Kevin’s death.
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