Finding humor at a funeral isn’t easy, but you try because it’s what the person who passed would have wanted, right? My mom would definitely have preferred a lively atmosphere over the usual somber tones filled with mournful music and tissues. Instead, she would have loved a vibrant tropical theme with Jimmy Buffett tunes about islands and adventures—things she adored but never fully chased after. (Trust me, watching a room full of adults dissolve into tears while dissecting lyrics from a guy known for a song about a cheeseburger is an unusual experience.)
We did our best to honor her spirit. During her visitation—dubbed a “time of sharing” since “visitation” felt too grim—there were moments when someone requested the music volume be increased, which is a peculiar request for such an occasion. I hope the other families in the funeral home didn’t mind our little party as we enjoyed “Trying To Reason With Hurricane Season.”
For nearly two decades, attending Jimmy Buffett’s concerts was our family’s summer highlight (I know this because I kept a journal). These concerts encapsulated the joy of holidays, birthdays, and three months of summer into a single 12-hour celebration. Honestly, it was better than any holiday, which often comes with travel headaches and family drama. Buffett’s shows were like a massive, colorful carnival filled with off-key sing-alongs, friendly encounters, and a mix of family and friends. Everyone came—immediate family, distant relatives, friends, my mom, her much older boyfriend (who we still called her boyfriend), college buddies, aunts, and even a few skeptics. This tradition overshadowed all others; while we hadn’t gathered for Thanksgiving in years, we were always on the hunt for tickets when they went on sale.
With Mom leading the charge (and driving us home—thank goodness), we spent those days in a whimsical inflatable village that popped up in parking lots. We formed swaying circles, belting out songs like “Come Monday,” “Son of a Son of a Sailor,” and “Southern Cross” every summer for two decades.
I took her to see Buffett at Wrigley Field, where I watched her spin in delight, seeing the iconic ballpark for the first time in 60 years. He once tossed a towel our way in Detroit, and she had it framed (just a heads up, walking into a craft store with a towel leads to some curious looks). I even snagged her an autograph at Bonnaroo in 2009, where Buffett shared the stage with Springsteen. In 2013, I interviewed him, which was surprisingly nerve-wracking, and he jokingly remarked that he had captured my children’s hearts. At one show in Chicago back in 2007, I remember swaying arm-in-arm with Mom to “A Pirate Looks at Forty,” which ended with a snippet of “Redemption Song.” She held on tight in a rare display of affection. When she passed unexpectedly, my brother and I recorded a show on Radio Margaritaville, as it felt like the only fitting tribute.
This year, transformed into someone who can genuinely feel moved by a song called “Fins,” I wanted to gather everyone one last time for a final celebratory Buffett concert before we resigned ourselves to the realities of adulthood—student loans and weekend commitments. We eagerly awaited the tour announcement, ready to pounce on tickets, but the news never came. I reached out to his team, only to find out that there would be no Indianapolis show this year—his first absence in nearly thirty years. Of all the summers, this felt like a significant loss. I won’t lie; it felt like the wind had been taken from my sails. But it made sense—our beloved driving force would be missing, and I would miss my dance partner for “Pirate Looks at Forty.”
This piece originally appeared on Midlife Mixtape.
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Summary:
This reflective piece captures the essence of a family’s deep connection to Jimmy Buffett’s music and the joyful memories created over two decades of concert experiences. It highlights the loss felt after the matriarch’s passing and the longing for one last celebration, emphasizing how music can unite and evoke profound emotions.