Happy Mother’s Day

With love to my mama and all the mothers there, who lifted us up, And encouraged us to be better in all things we do

Happy Mother’s Day, Mamma.

May 10, 2026

Mama, oh, Mama. Seventy-four years spinning around the sun now. It’s been a year since I last wrote this to you, and I have to tell you, it’s been a hard one. This stroke... it’s a long road. Some days I feel like I’m getting better, finding the notes again, and other days... well, other days are tough. But I remember how you always stood by me through thick and thin. You lifted me up when I was down, but you weren’t afraid to call me out on the bad things I’d done, either. You kept me honest.

The missing you... it’s still a constant hum beneath the surface, like a favorite old song you can almost hear when everything else goes quiet. You were always my anchor, my steady north star. The 24/7 support, the unwavering belief. I still think about that phone—how I should’ve dialed those 318 digits more often. It’s a lifeline we often forget to grab tight enough until it’s gone.

Back in the States, California felt like a different dimension. Chasing the music, those big concert halls with Paul Williams and Melissa Manchester. Loud stages, bright lights, but nothing shone brighter than you.

I keep going back to 2003, when you drove up from Monroe to Little Rock to stay with Aunt Ellie. I remember visiting her in Memphis when I was just five, when Elvis had just moved in a few doors down. We were all so crazy about him back then. But then Ellie moved to Little Rock, and that’s where you were for your last month. It was such a complicated place—Bill Clinton’s hometown (I know you didn’t care for him!), and the place where Eisenhower sent the troops for desegregation after Brown v. Board of Education. So much history in that soil.

And there we were, watching the Cubs almost make the World Series until that ball was stolen away. We were all such fanatics—you, me, and Steve. We were so proud of him, Mamma, seeing him as the anchorman at WGN. Those memories bind us together, even now.

That last visit... the cancer had beaten you down so much. It was my 52nd birthday when Paul Williams called to say I was “playing with a full deck.” I wanted to cancel the tour the second I saw you, but you wouldn’t let me. “You signed the contract. You gotta go,” you said. Even at the end, you were looking out for me.

Things are still sideways here. The politics, the changes in the world—it’s all so different from the world you knew. But I have Maria here in Spain. She is my sunshine; she brings me my coffee every morning and stays by my side through this recovery. You would have loved her.

The music business has changed, too. Nobody buys albums like that 1964 Beatles record I saved a month for. Now it’s all streaming—billions of songs for ten dollars. But I still write every day. It’s in my blood, a gift from you and Grandma.

I’m posting a song today by Gregory Porter—you know he’s one of my favorites. It’s called “Mother’s Song.” Every time I hear it, I think of you.

I can’t even imagine the dimension where you are now, Mamma, but I know it’s magnificent. I’m grateful for the career I had and the school you and Daddy sent me to. It made me who I am.

We’ll all be together again someday, somewhere over the rainbow. Until then, I love you fiercely. I’m sending you all my blessings, wherever you are riding that cosmic wave.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. You were the best. Still are.