Back in the day, years ago, during one of the more particular bouts of “Allie hates life and it seems to return the feeling” periods, my dad slipped your Wildflowers album with a sweet note on top of it into my bright yellow bedroom. This album and dad’s note came right around the time when I was finding as much solace as possible in music and in other peoples words, and this album is truly the first and only one to change my life. From the very first split second I heard it, Wildflowers became the vision for my life. It became my lifeline to a future I hoped existed. It became the words and the story I would remind myself of in my darkest of moments, that year and every year since. It became my reminder of hope and of promise.
You honestly felt like a cool old friend, like a wise and awesome old rocker who understood. Dad and I danced along to your voice at my wedding, singing that same song from that same album dad introduced me to so many years before, singing the promise of my life on one of the best nights of my life. Your voice and your words and your thoughts have kept me company on many car drives and work days and moments small and big for so many years. Your concerts have time and time again been my favorite of all favorites. When dad and I saw you perform in Houston this past spring, we stood up among the seated when you sang Wildflowers and I had tears in my eyes and a tug on my spirit. I felt pride and ownership of that song and a dizzying love for that man, that stranger, you, up there singing. I felt waves of grace and mercy and brilliance in your words. That particular concert has since come to mean more and more to me with each passing day, and with your own recent journey out of this world, that concert and you will forever remain at the top. You once said “music is pure and it’s real. It moves, it heals.”
Tom Petty, you moved me and you healed me and I’ll love you forever and ever and ever and ever.
Thank you and I love you.