She Gave Me So Much For So Long.
When I was a kid, we had an enormous console stereo – six feet long, as big as a desk with speakers built into both ends. I’d carefully open the six-foot long lid and inside, miraculously, lived a radio, an 8-track player and a truly beloved turntable to play the albums that my dad brought home on special occasions.
At least twice, my dad brought home new Olivia Newton-John albums: Don’t Stop Believin’ and If Not For You. The liner notes included lyrics, which my dad would excitedly remove from the sleeve as the music started. Then he would read and sing along, as would I, from the beginning of Side 1 all the way to the end of Side 2. When Saturday came and Dad was home from work again, we’d repeat the process. I was 10 or 12 and I treasured these moments with all my heart.
I don’t confuse my love for my dad with my love for Olivia Newton-John, but growing up with her music added an emotional component to the way I felt every time I saw her name, watched her movies, or heard her speak. I watched Grease countless times, wanting to be Olivia, wanting to have that Australian accent, those leather pants, that blonde hair, that shy/sly smile.
It physically hurts to think that no one will ever see that incredibly bright smile again.
In the 80’s, Olivia had a slew of pop hits. The controversial Physical made #1 on the charts, but Make a Move On Me was my favorite from that decade. In homage to days gone by, I taught myself to play I Honestly Love You on the guitar – something that was incredibly difficult for me, since I am no musical genius like my kids. But that song touches my heart in a way very few can.
I know she didn’t write all of her own songs, but I remember thinking Have You Never Been Mellow was the solution to my friend, Bonnie’s, ailments – and then realizing that it was the solution to mine.
When Dylan was born, and again with Shane, Olivia’s Warm and Tender played on repeat – a full album of lullabies made especially for infants. I doubt that Dylan remembers his first year cradled in her music, but when the news broke that she’d died, Dylan texted me within minutes. His favorite ONJ song is Don’t Stop Believin’ – which he knows by heart, having been raised with the CDs of my dad’s albums.
We all knew she had cancer, that she was doing well, that she was in remission, and that it returned, that she was doing poorly, that she was a trooper until the very last moment of her very beautiful life of giving to those of us who did nothing but soak in that beauty.
Still it seems wrong, somehow, to outlive this person whose music was such a strong soundtrack for my life, for so many lives. It seems like she should have outlived us all. She gave me so much for so long.
There’s a line from A Thousand Conversations that made me cry when I was 12, when I thought my childhood was over and that I’d never be able to go back – which, of course, was true even then. I’d sing this song to myself at night, crying myself to sleep.
I suppose it’s more appropriate now than ever before.
“Guess it’s finally goodbye – seems we came so suddenly to the end of childhood dreams and the way things used to be.“