Sweet Baby James

“I wonder who is playing at Jones Beach this summer?” I uncharacteristically asked my husband a couple of months ago. Now don’t get me wrong. I love going to a concert but my husband is more the music lover in our house.  He has always been the one to initiate getting tickets for every concert we have gone to.

 

I picked up the iPad and started scrolling.  “Oh my GOD!” I exclaimed when I saw it.  “Jams Taylor is playing.”

 

“What?” my husband questioned.

 

“He is playing this summer.  I want to go. We have to go!”

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My husband paused.  He was quite.  His face mirrored what I felt in my heart.  James Taylor was what we played every time we brought our beloved cat, Alex, to the vet.  James Taylor’s songs were his travel music.  We listened to James when we learned Alex had cancer in his tail.  We listened on our way to and from the vet when Alex’s tail was amputated.  And James played the last time we went to the vet with Alex, the day before we had to put him to sleep.

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Almost two years later, neither my husband or I can listen to James Taylor without crying.  Every time we hear his voice it is as if Alex is back with us, just for a moment.

 

“Can you go?” I asked him again, softer this time. “Or will it be too painful?”

 

He shrugged and shock his head.  “Yes, I can do it.”

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But we didn’t buy tickets then.  We waited.  All week long I thought about the concert, but usually when a computer wasn’t handy.  Finally at the end of the week, as dinner simmered on the stove, once again I called up the concert schedule on our iPad.

 

“So, James is playing in July,” I said to my husband as I pointed at the screen.  “Do you think we can handle it?  Should we get tickets?”

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“Yes, we should,” he answered as his eyes clouded over.  “Let’s look for seats this weekend.”

 

Satisfied, I closed the iPad. Then something hit me.  “Did you notice what day James is playing?” I asked.

 

“Nope.”

 

Something itched at my mind. I had to see. I opened the iPad once more. The color drained from my face.  “Oh my God.” I screeched.  “He is playing July 16th.”

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All these pictures were taking in the last year of Alex’s life….

 

“What?  Well then, we have no choice.  We have to go.” My husband said, in just as much shock and disbelief.  July 16th will be two years, to the day, that we had to say goodbye to our special boy.

 

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