An Open Letter To A Rock Star

Dear Husband,

I just wanted you to know that yesterday was not the day I figured out you were a rock star.  Yesterday, I learned that you can play a fretless bass guitar at rapid speeds while doing the splits in front of thousands of people.  I learned that a 17-year-old kid drove overnight from Albuquerque, New Mexico to see you play.  He’d been waiting his whole life.  I learned that a guy from Hawaii flew in for one day to see the band play one last time, and I learned that everyone in the mosh pit knew every word to every song.  None of this gave me any indication to your rock star status…not even the girl who told me she loved you and was going to keep the bottle of water you gave her for the rest of her life.

Yesterday, when I couldn’t sleep after the lights were out and the sound was ringing in my ears, when I was crying from the pain of my heart bursting in my chest, I thought again about the rock star you’ve always been.  From the moment we made out on your back porch for 5 hours, to 2 hours before the show when you had to come home and smoke a pork shoulder for our guests, you have always been a rock star human being.  I knew again this morning when we woke up and I started reading the reviews and posts about the band.  I knew as a rock star, you’d check your phone too.  You did.  You said, “Baby, according to my phone we’ve been married 1 year, 10 months, 25 days, 8 hours and 34 minutes.”

If you couldn’t carry a tune or play an instrument or fly a plane or build a spice rack, you’d still be a rock star because you love me in the most amazingly rock star way every day.

There is no rock star bigger than you; there is no groupie bigger than me.  And in 40 years, I’ll still do you in the back of the bus…or our nursing home shuttle van.

Rock On!


Your Wife


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