The Power of Music: How Zac Brown Band Helped Me Grieve

Zac Brown Band, opening for Kenny Chesney, on April 20th, 2024: Raymond James Stadium, Tampa, FL 

Some people believe that grieving the loss of a celebrity—someone you did not know personally—is not validated. 

But I beg to differ. Especially, when the lyrics and music of the one who has passed have become a part of your soul—a woven piece of your life’s fabric and the soundtrack to your life.

I will never forget exactly where I was on the morning of September 2nd, 2023, when I learned of Jimmy Buffett’s passing. 

We had taken the kids to Disney World for Labor Day weekend, and somehow I had actually woken up before our brood of boys had beat me to our wake up call. Instead of going back to sleep when my eyes scanned the still room, I thought I would take advantage of the quiet moment to spend some mindless time scrolling my Instagram feed while still in bed—a rare opportunity. 

As I rubbed my eyes and put on my glasses, I prepared to scroll past my usual posts: all things music, Pearl Jam, teacher life, and updates on the lives of my friends and family. I tapped each heart as I read the happy news that was captured in each frame. 

I read. I smiled. I chuckled. I “liked.” 

I read another post. I smiled. And I “liked” again.

But then, suddenly, my scrolling came to an abrupt stop. And my heart immediately sank to the pit of my stomach. I could not believe what I was reading: “Jimmy Buffett has passed away.”

“No, no, no…” I remember saying aloud to myself. This could not be true. And as I looked over at my husband, who had already learned the news about the passing of his favorite musical artist,  he shook his head in disbelief and sadly whispered, “I know.”

I continued to scroll through my feed frantically, looking for information that would disprove the news I had just read. 

But post after post shared the grief of Buffett fans from all over the world.

And then I stumbled across Jimmy Buffett’s official Instagram page, which posted, “Jimmy passed away peacefully on the night of September 1st surrounded by his family, friends, music and dogs. He lived a life like a song till the very last breath and will be missed beyond measure by so many.” 

With this post—some sort of finality—my heart beat harder and more rapidly.  Truth stared me in the face. And my heart filled with shock and sadness.

And then—just like in a movie—memories rapidly whooshed through my mind.

Memories.

Memories that brought me back to when I was a little girl—simpler times—just me and my brothers and my mom and dad living under one roof, having pool parties and BBQ’s. They were memories of happiness. And Jimmy Buffett’s songs were the backdrop.

Memories of my dad singing to me on the way to drop off at school each day.

Memories of me dancing with my dad. Sometimes with him guiding me while I stood on top of his feet.

Memories of our family boat outings where Buffett was the only music serenading us along the Intracoastal Waterway.

Memories of our family living our lives by Buffett’s lyrics and reciting them at appropriate times: 

“Little Miss Magic, What you gonna be?”

“Come Monday, it will be alright.”

“Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes.”

“And now I must confess. I could use some rest. I can't run at this pace very long.”

Last, but not least, “And wrinkles only go where the smiles have been.”

Memories.

Memories of how Buffett influenced my own life as a writer and a lover of music.

While so many of his lyrics guided my family’s lives, Buffett instilled in me the desire to be a writer and a poet. As Kenny Chesney has said before, Jimmy taught him how to paint pictures with words. Well, Jimmy Buffett also taught me how to do the same. He was the best story teller, where every lyric to every song captivated me as a listener, taking me to another place, as I listened to him tell his stories through song.

Buffett also instilled in me a love of music.

I wanted to learn how to play the guitar at a young age because of Jimmy Buffett. And sure enough—Buffett’s music was some of the first music I learned to play on the guitar. 

Memories.

Memories that brought me back to my first years of teaching, almost 20 years ago, when I had the opportunity to teach Cameron Buffett—Jimmy and Jane’s son—the sweetest child.

And as I thought of Cameron that morning when the news broke, my heart ached for him and his sisters and his mom. I could not even begin to imagine the heartache his family was experiencing.

Memories.

Memories of the Jimmy Buffett concerts I attended. Dressing in floral shirts and wearing leis and flip flops. 

And then regretting that I said “no”—because it was a school night—to a recent opportunity to see Buffett live with my husband who absolutely ADORED him.

Memory. After Memory. After memory flooded my mind.

And then suddenly, the flashbacks halted when our alarm went off and the boys slowly began to wake up. It was time to head to the Magic Kingdom.

While we were in the “happiest place on earth” that day, I couldn’t quite shake the news. I kind of walked along like a zombie, in shock of what I had learned that morning. Tears welled up in my eyes throughout the day, and forced smiles took over as I hopped on the rides with our kids. But the day was strange. How could I be happy after hearing this news? 

At the same time, I wondered, “I didn’t even personally know Jimmy Buffett. How can I be this sad? I shouldn’t be this sad.”

Soon, I went from an absolute stage of shock to a stage of denial. 

For the next several months that followed Jimmy’s death, I switched from my normal programmed SiriusXM stations of No Shoes Radio, Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews and Margaritaville to only listening to Margaritaville. Because, after all, Jimmy Buffett’s voice was there. His songs were still there. 

And as I listened, I thought—this news can’t be true. Jimmy isn’t gone. He’s right where I always remembered him. 

Yet, when I listened to him on Radio Margaritaville, I just couldn’t stop feeling that pain in my heart as if I had lost someone close to me. 

It was strange. I really wished I could cry. I wished I could let it all out. 

I thought that maybe I would feel better if I could accept the fact that Jimmy Buffett was no longer with us and I could just grieve. But I was stuck in this strange place of denial, and I still felt that it was silly to grieve for someone I had never actually truly known. 

And then in April, 2024, my husband and I took our three boys to a Kenny Chesney concert in Tampa. Zac Brown Band was debuting a new song they had written as a tribute to Jimmy Buffett, titled “Pirates & Parrots.” I had heard the song on the radio, but I had not listened to the words. My son said, “Mom, I think that was written for Jimmy.” I told him that I had not listened, but I could not wait to hear it when they played it again.

I never heard the song again on the radio. So when I heard it in concert, it was as if I were hearing it for the first time.

Caroline Jones of Zac Brown Band took the stage and played the most beautiful intro that I had ever heard on the violin. And then Zac Brown began to sing: 

Another dollar on the wall

Another poet with a pen

Another beach bum with a dog

Another stranger sailin' in

And the water's just as blue

No, you haven't missed a thing

But we're all here missin' you

All the pirates and the parrots sing

So adios, my friend

Anchor where that ocean ends

We'll pick up where you left off

Strummin' on a sailor song

We'll hold down this salty rock

Where it's always 5 o'clock

When the sun goes down, we raise our drinks

All the pirates and the parrots sing

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Tell 'em raise the bridge

The drifter's comin' through

There's a golden stretch of beach

That's waitin' there on you

Is the water just as blue?

We wanna hear about everything

But we're all here missin' you

So all the pirates and the parrots sing

So adios, my friend

Anchor where that ocean ends

We'll pick up where you left off

Strummin' on a sailor song

We'll hold down this salty rock

Where it's always 5 o'clock

When the sun goes down, we raise our drinks

All the pirates and the parrots sing

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Gone too soon, but left a song

Passed a torch to carry on

As long as people sing along

You'll live on and on and on

So adios, my friend

Anchor where that ocean ends

We'll pick up where you left off

Strummin' on a sailor song

We'll hold down this salty rock

Where it's always 5 o'clock

When the sun goes down, we raise our drinks

All the pirates and the parrots sing

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh (oh-ooh-woah-ooh-woah)

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh (oh-ooh-woah-ooh-woah)

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh, woah-ooh-woah

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Adios, my friend

While I listened to this song that Zac Brown sang about Jimmy in concert that night, I cried. No, I actually sobbed. Tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face.

I realized, at that moment, that it finally happened—I had moved onto the next stage of grief. I finally had accepted the news that was so difficult to accept. Jimmy was gone.

Grief took hold. And at that moment, I realized that, yes, my grief was for Jimmy Buffett, but his passing meant so much more. It was as if his passing was a reminder of the passage of time—as if the happy memories and the soundtrack to my life were now lost as well. It was the gut punch that was telling me that I was getting older. And my parents were getting older. And the simpler ways of youth were long gone. And the fun was gone.

But then I paused and took a deep breath. And I really listened to the lyrics: 

“Gone too soon, but left a song

Passed a torch to carry on

As long as people sing along

You'll live on and on and on”

And finally I felt a sense of peace. Zac Brown had said it perfectly. Jimmy was gone. And yes, time has passed. But we still have a song. We have Jimmy’s songs. And because of this, Jimmy will live on forever. He will remain in our hearts. He will remain in our fondest memories.

And he will continue to touch the lives of many generations to come, carrying them through the good and the bad, just as he did for me.

So keep singing through life. And keep dancing through life. Because I have a feeling that’s what Jimmy Buffett would want ALL of us to do—today and every day. “Bubbles up.”