It’s hard to explain how much I still miss and grieve Jimmy Buffett. (Especially to non-parrotheads.)
And it’s not the party I miss—although they were a hell of a lot of fun. But it’s the artist I long for. Our compass. Every lyric is so deeply buried in my being that every so often for the last 20 years or so, I pull out a line or a verse and examine it from every angle. Then I store it away, turn the wheel, and get back on course—or chart a new one.
Jimmy influenced every part of my life. Mostly because he influenced so much of my parents’ lives. His voice is as familiar to me as my dad’s. As a kid, Desdamona and I hunted statues by our backyard pool every summer… I fully understood what it was like to cram lost years into 5 or 6 days… I sat on the steps with my African friend… and in my dreams I was passed out in my hammock on A1A. I will always be searching for a Bogart suit and smile when I hear there’s no plane on Sunday.
And even though those words live on, the fact that the man who wrote them is missing makes it hard to listen. Our interpreter is gone, and we’re reminded of it with every note.
But I’ve experienced this before.
Maybe that’s what part of this grief is. A reminder of my other lyrical polestar making a sudden disappearing act when I was just 12.
And like we all are with Jimmy’s work and wisdom, I am lucky that my grandmother’s written words live on in her published work. I am even more fortunate that the notes and scribbles of her career are tucked away neatly in the basement of the university library only a few miles from my house. I treasure it with every life change. I study her poems, books, and seemingly random stream of words, searching for the life lessons and advice I didn’t get to hear from her mouth. I pretend (and hope) that may have been secret, cryptic letters written for me to decipher, and for the others she loved so much.
But it would be so much nicer just to call and ask. And I long to stumble upon the unwritten notes of other’s I’ve lost.
As an artist, creator, and mother I think about this a lot. What the legacy is that I may be leaving, and of the art and words I’m putting out in the world. I think about the notes I’m leaving in my wake, and what will be looked for and used after I’m gone. So I write it down. Secret, cryptic letters. But when so much of my inspiration, personality, and work is born from the work of someone who’s no longer here, I feel a little adrift.
I’m charting a new course. And I know I’m not the only one.
“What would they do if I just sailed away?” Well Jimmy, we’d be lost. We are lost. But so grateful for the legacy, the words, and the lessons you left us.
Sail on. We’ll keep the party going.
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