Sometimes a song finds its way into our lives at just the right moment, touching feelings we have carried quietly in our hearts for years. This was certainly true for me when a song called Air—a lyrical adaptation of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Air on the G String—unexpectedly appeared in a random YouTube search a week ago. As I listened, the hauntingly beautiful music reached deep into my soul, stirring emotions that even my legendary stoicism couldn’t quite contain.

Whether a melody is sad or melancholy, joyful and uplifting, tender and heartfelt, or achingly heartbreaking, music has always had a unique way of touching places in my heart that ordinary words cannot reach. Sometimes a song captures exactly what I’m feeling; other times, it awakens memories and emotions I didn’t even realize were still there.

Something about this particular song touched a place deep within me. Perhaps it was because November 2nd marks 15 years since Crick’s passing from this earthly life and as I listened to the lyrics, I found myself thinking about our marriage and how two people can, in the truest sense, become home to one another. There is something profoundly beautiful about being loved by someone who truly knows you—not just the person the world sees, but the person beneath the surface, with all your hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses, and the vulnerabilities you may not readily share with others. To be known so completely and loved so faithfully is a gift beyond measure. It is the comfort of knowing that, no matter what life brings, there is someone with whom you can be entirely yourself, someone who has shared your journey and whose presence makes the world feel a little less daunting.

And when that person is no longer physically by your side, you feel the absence in ways that are difficult to explain. The years may pass, and life may continue to unfold, but the heart remembers. Sometimes, a letter, a memory, or even a song can bring the past close enough to touch, reminding us not only of whom we have lost, but also of the extraordinary gift of having loved and been loved so deeply.

My Catholic faith offers another source of comfort. While the pain of separation is real, so is my hope in God’s promise of eternal life. I believe that death does not have the final word and that the love we share in this life is not rendered meaningless by our earthly separation. Perhaps that is why Air has touched me so deeply at this particular time. I hear in its lyrics, not necessarily the meaning its writer may have intended, but rather the heart speaking to someone who remains deeply loved, even across the silence of death. The song reminds me that fifteen years without Crick’s physical presence does not mean fifteen years without the love we shared. That love continues to shape my life, live in my memories, and influence the person I am today. Perhaps it is this beautiful blending of earthly love, spiritual connection, and the hope of something eternal that makes the song so comforting to me.

I share this song because I suspect many of us carry a love like this—a love that time cannot erase and loss cannot diminish. We may find ourselves smiling at a memory one moment and wiping away a tear the next. Both are part of the journey. Neither means we have failed to move forward. They simply remind us that someone we loved deeply will always matter.

As I mark this 15th anniversary, I am reminded of how blessed I was to love Crick and to be loved by him. I am grateful for the years we had, for our children and grandchildren, for the memories that remain, and especially for the faith that sustains me when the longing returns.

May God hold us close when we miss those who have gone before us, comfort us in our sorrow, and keep alive in us the hope that love, in its deepest and truest form, is never wasted, never forgotten, and endures beyond the boundaries of this earthly life.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud… Love never fails.”