I frequently go for walks to one of Tony’s favorite spots when he wanted to chill or contemplate life. The path leads to a quarry, where I have felt many spiritual connections with him since his death, as I peacefully sit contemplating life myself.
Each time I walk this same path, I pass a huge oak (?) tree. I always pause at that tree. Until today, every time I stopped I asked, “Why?” the one question that racks my soul. It’s a perfect question to ask, at this particular spot, by this particular tree. Its massive limbs spread in a “Y” always prompt the question, “Why?”
The “why” questions I ask vary. Time passes. Seasons continue to change. And still I ask, “Why?” Today, I once again paused at the big “Y” tree. But this time, I felt joy in my heart. Through the limbs, I saw my son–The Funky Drummer. This time, I didn’t have my standard question in my heart. Instead, the huge trunk represented his body, and the sprawling limbs were his arms raised high above his head before he crashed down on his cymbals in a crescendo of sound. My Tony, whaling on the drums.
And I remembered the notes that so many of his friends left for him as their sweet farewells.
“You were going to be famous.”
“Keep the beat going for us ’til we see you again.”
“May your snare drums crack forever.”
“No one played the drums funkier than you.”
“Thanks for teaching me to recognize good music.”
“The most passionate drummer I know.”
“Band, Tony. The only reason it was fun was you.”
“Thanks for introducing me to a whole new way to breathe music.”
“We have lost a great friend and fellow band mate.”
“Hope you teach Keith Moon and Buddy Rich a few things about drumming up there.”
“Wish I coulda heard you thrash the crap out of a drum set one last time.”
His Spirit Lives On 