A Magical Story… And A Thank You!

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This is a thank you letter. Nothing more. I write this ending first…giving away the purpose of my words.

This is the shortest version of my story that I’m able to tell.

A long time ago, my father died. That summer, I was lying on the bed in my room with the windows open. A warm summer breeze filtered

through the screen along with the sounds of children playing outside and cars passing by. My much older brother thumped several times on the door and carefully shoved it open with his shoulder, arms filled with another pile of records. This had become somewhat of a ritual between us.

He placed the records on the end of my bed and gave me my assignment. “Listen to these tonight and let me know what you think about them tomorrow morning.”  Then he was gone; out to spend a late night with his high school friends at the beach, or wherever teenagers congregated on warm summer nights in the late 1970’s.

I carefully sifted through the pile of albums that had been put before me. There were various artists: Boston, Kansas, ELO, Elton John,  The Alan Parsons Project, The Beatles, Supertramp, and Billy Joel “The Stranger”. I put each album on my record player, placed the arm at the start of the first track, and started playing the albums one by one. Some records, like The Alan Parsons Project, lasted only for a few tracks before I had heard enough, while others were left to play far longer. But there was one album that at the age of seven, spoke to me. I played it over and over trying to learn the words to the faster tracks while reading the lyrics on the liner notes. I was hooked. The next day I returned all of the albums to my brother, but I kept “The Stranger” for a very long time.

For years, Billy Joel remained my favorite artist. Even in high school, when people would ask, “Who’s your favorite musician?” I would get funny looks when I answered, “Billy Joel!” I was the “odd man out” in an age of U2, INXS, Duran Duran, and Van Halen. Billy Joel was not cool to them, but he was to me. His melodies played over and over in my head, and his lyrics spoke to something deep in my soul.

In 1986, I spent a year as a foreign exchange student in New Zealand. One of the care packages that my mother sent to me contained a bag of M&Ms, a Halloween costume, and Billy Joel’s “The Bridge.” I was so excited! I listened to the entire album and then played, “This Is the Time” so often that I actually stretched out the cassette tape. A few years later, he released another album, “The River of Dreams.” This album would contain a song that has become the gift of a lifetime for me.

I always had signs that my father was still with me long after he had died.  While this song was written for Billy Joel’s daughter, it felt as if it were a gift to me, from my own father. I can never listen to it without crying. It joined the growing list of my favorite Billy Joel songs: Summer Highland Falls, Rootbeer Rag, Angry Young Man, Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, Moving Out, I’ve Loved These Days, Only the Good Die Young, My Life, You’re Only Human, This is the Time, Don’t Ask Me Why, Matter of Trust, Leningrad, You May Be Right, Keeping the Faith, And So it Goes. These are all great songs, my favorites. But, Lullabye was the gift for which I’m most thankful.

I grew up, met and married my best friend, and we raised our children on the music of Billy Joel. Most of the time, they hated it. But, Billy Joel music remained a constant in our lives. One year, my husband John bought us tickets for a concert at County Stadium in Milwaukee, WI, an hour’s drive from our home. They were tickets to a concert called “Face to Face.” While I liked Elton John’s music, my husband bought the tickets so that I could see Billy Joel in person for the first time. He apologized every time Elton was on stage, as though I was wasn’t enjoying the evening. The truth was, it was the best concert I had ever been to!

John and I had four daughters. They now range in age from 25 to 10. Over eight years ago, John fought and beat testicular cancer so that we could expand our family by adopting two little girls after our two oldest children were already teenagers. Life became something to truly celebrate, and John was the kind of man that never forgot a special occasion. I was spoiled by his anniversary gifts,

birthday gifts, and things that he claimed, “just jumped into the cart!” Then, a year ago he was diagnosed with angiosarcoma, a very rare, incurable and aggressive cancer. It was completely unrelated to his first cancer, and the cancer, along with the treatments, hit him hard. On my birthday, September 8th, he was in the hospital… again. It must have been his 60th or 70th day in the hospital since being diagnosed in May 2017. I had to go to work on the day of my birthday, but I had recently reduced my hours to work part time so that I could  care for John in the afternoons. He was often very confused and unable to advocate for himself; the doctors never did figure out why this happened to him. As was our “hospital routine,” I called him that morning before leaving for work. He said nothing about it being my birthday and I didn’t say anything either.  I didn’t want to embarrass him for forgetting. After work, I stopped to buy myself a special sushi lunch and took it to the hospital room with me. “That looks good!” he said, “Is it some kind of special occasion?”

“Absolutely!” I teased him, “It’s sushi day!” I offered him some of my lunch, but as usual, he wasn’t hungry. I stayed with him all afternoon and evening. Because I had to work the next morning, I couldn’t stay overnight with John in the hospital room as I had done every night before, but I did stayed until the last possible moment. Then, I went home to get our young daughters settled and in bed. Finally,I was also settled into bed and ready to put this day behind me.  This was the birthday I had dreaded my entire life. I was turning the exact age that my father was when he had died and I had feared something bad would happen during this year of my life. Suddenly, at 10:30pm the phone rang. It was John.

“Oh my God, Kristyn! It’s your birthday! I can’t believe that I forgot about it! Happy Birthday! You never said a word! I’m so sorry!” He apologized over and over again.

“It’s ok,” I soothed him honestly, “It’s only a day, it’s really nothing special. Don’t worry about it. How did you finally remember?” I asked him.

“The white board in my room,” he replied, referring to the white board in every hospital room that is posted in front of the patient with such information as the date, the name of the nurse, contact information, upcoming tests, and special orders.

The board had read Sept. 8th all day long, but I knew that his mind wasn’t able to comprehend what the date actually meant. I assured him once again that I didn’t mind, and I truly didn’t. I just missed having my husband with me. The husband that he was before cancer stole him away, bit by bit. 

Less than a month later, he unexpectedly died while again being hospitalized. My worst fear of something dreadful happening during this year, this year that I was the same age as my father when he had died….. had come true. The worst possible thing had happened and I was left shattered, literally knocked to my knees watching my daughters feel the grief of losing a father just as I had done when I was a little girl. I was now left very alone, having lost my mother, father-in-law, and several other family members including the love of my life within a two year period. I was now a widow and an orphan before turning 50.

I struggled to find a distraction from the grief, but it came to me very quickly. I vowed to take back each of the 83 days that were stolen from John when he was hospitalized. He hated it there. He wanted to be outside, in the woods camping, or travelling and eating good food. He wanted to be with all of his girls. The girls that he loved. So I planned a trip that took me literally around the country. I drove almost 14,000 miles in a 32 foot motorhome with my two youngest daughters,

each day on the road stole back one of those 83 hospital days. We left on May 20, 2018 and returned home on Aug 10, 2018. While travelling, I made plans to visit people in the angiosarcoma family who had become close friends, even though most of us had never met in person. And John’s presence on the trip was undeniable.

Almost every day on the trip something magical happened, and it was obvious that John was taking care of his girls and letting us know that not only was he with us on this trip, but that he wanted to help us out and make this something truly memorable. One of the most magical days was in Galveston, Texas when I stayed with two angiosarcoma friends. Lori had lost her own husband, also named John, to angiosarcoma four years earlier. Sheinvited me to stay with her and her new husband Dave, who had also lost his first wife to the same disease.

One day, Lori and I took the girls to an amusement park on the pier and while they were content standing in line and going on ride after ride, we sat and talked. Knowing that I play the violin, percussion, and a very little piano, she started asking me if I knew of the other musicians in the angiosarcoma family. I knew of one name that she mentioned, but I didn’t know much about the other name.

When she told me that there was a connection between this person and a famous musician, I immediately heard my husband’s voice in my head telling me, “It’s Billy Joel.” No way, I thought to myself. There is NO WAY! So I asked Lori, “exactly WHICH musician is this person connected to?” And her answer was… yes…. it was Billy Joel!!!

Lori, Dave and I got along really well, and we talked about possibly meeting in Chicago someday, maybe soon. Dave asked me how far away Chicago was from my home. I responded by telling him that I often drive the five hours to Chicago, and that I have family there.

Then he asked if I had any plans on September 7th. I told him that I  had no plans on September 7th, it was the day before my birthday. I was hoping that they were making plans to come to Chicago in just a few months. A few hours later, Dave called me down from my room to show me a message he had received… I had been given VIP tickets to the Billy Joel concert in Chicago on September 7th!! I instantly cried! You have GOT to be kidding me! I couldn’t speak, I could only cry and laugh at the same time, and give Dave a tight hug!

The idea of possibly meeting members of the band? Awesome. Actually being AT a Billy Joel concert to sing every song with him? That took my breath away.

I called my oldest daughters and shared the story with them. They instantly cried and responded, “You know that daddy is giving you a birthday present to make up for last year, don’t you?” And I did.

So, on September 7, 2018 I will be up close to Billy Joel, singing along to almost any song he plays, crying, laughing, and enjoying the final birthday present my husband will give to me.

“Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be

Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

They never die

That’s how you and I will be”

• Lullaby by Billy Joel

These lyrics used to represent a message to me from my father. Now they represent a message to my daughters from my husband, but they are also my husband’s message to me.

They remind me, “that’s how you and I will be.” In love. Forever.

From the bottom of my heart…..

Thank you, Billy Joel, for the lifetime gift of music that you have given to me without knowing it.

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