Oct 9, a much more meaningful 76th Birthday celebration, had John Lennon survived and recover.

Oh, man. Such a tragic and inexplicable loss with no rhyme or reason that tore apart our emotions. A tragic that put to an end and destroyed the amazing, embraceable music that very well may have continued to astonish music lovers the whole world around with number one hit songs year after year. Great songs lost forever.

I remember that awful day our hero John, the witty one, passed away as vivid as if the horrible, and senseless shots fired occurrence happened last night. I was visiting my girlfriend in Anaheim, and her apartment complex laid on a busy main thoroughfare known as Magnolia Ave. No surprise Magnolia Trees planted ages ago decoratively landscaped both sides the entire length along this congested four-lane highway. Directly across the street from her building sat a convenient store we scrambled to and from whenever the munchies came a calling or sweet tooth urges had taken mind control. Dodging traffic in a mad dash, and avoiding jaywalking citations was by no means appealing, but my God, the corner crosswalk looked further away than two goal posts on a football field. 

Well, unfortunate as it is, my sweetheart had been hooked on cigarettes quite a few years before we started our romance and inhaled about a pack a day. I hated everything her bad habit brought to the relationship. . . the smell, the smoke, the cough, the continual tax increase expense, and the coincidental worst timing moments she realized her pack had emptied from the last time she lit up. It happened again mid-evening, December 8, 1980, a few hours after dinner. Her puppy-dog eyes and cute little pouty mouth ushered the plea, “Will you be my knight in shining armor and run across the street for a carton?” In an instant, those lips of hers magically shape-shifted into the most luscious, kissable pucker west of the Rockies, making me a goner and melt in her arms. Me oh my, the things we do for love.

I slipped back on my shoes and rushed out the door happy to fulfill her request. By estimation, the task lingered less than ten minutes, but she had met me more than halfway with a deep sadden despair of inner anguish splashed over her concerned face. She wanted to comfort me just in case I heard the unthinkable news at the mini-mart. I saw the emotional pain in her eyes and asked, “What’s wrong?” She knew I hadn’t yet caught the atrocious news. “Hold me tight,” she said, “and let’s return inside my place quick, I have something to tell you.” And tell me she did in the gentlest and most loving way possible.

I cried the same massive broken-heart tears each of us shed when a best friend unsuspectedly leaves our side, never to return, knowing their soul has lifted upward to a much better place, leaving the shell of the recognized and significant body that once upon a time loomed so special in our lives. How true, being together with a best friend makes everything better. Although I never met John, I prized him like a best friend.

Two days later, my lover bought me a commemorative magazine all about John Lennon that received shelf space displayed on the news racks at the grocery store checkout lanes. Most of the other publications jumbled in the same area featured a $1.00 reasonable price tag. However, the unique memorial journal dedicated to the honor of Mr. Lennon boldly garnished a price tag spouting $4.50, an unheard fee for such an item. In contrast, the day after George Harrison lost his battle to cancer, his tribute magazine posted a whopping $25.00 cost.  Packed neatly away, I still have the December 1980 periodical on John. Rest in Peace, dear John, dear friend, and tell George we miss you both very, very much. 
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