She Knew I’d Get Here

I heard “The Story” by Brandi Carlile for the first time today.

Not “first time” like I’d never heard it before. Katy and I were fans. Well, Katy was the real fan. I was more of a casual participant. Still, Brandi’s music lived in the background of our life. Car rides. Target aisles. Saturday mornings.

Katy tried to get me excited about her. I’m pretty sure she used “The Story” as Exhibit A. Not pushy. Not dramatic. Just her quiet confidence, the kind that didn’t argue or oversell. She’d just press play, like she knew I’d catch up eventually.

For whatever reason, I wasn’t ready to hear what Brandi was saying.

I have a lot of time to listen these days. So after some internal negotiations, I put the song on. No distractions. No emotional armor. I just let it play.

By the time she lands on I was made for you, every moment my wife had tried to get me to listen came rushing back. Every “I’ll check it out later” that never happened. Every missed chance to meet her inside something she loved.

Now I hear it.
And I wish she were here so I could tell her she was right.

Our relationship started with music. I once burned her a CD, hand‑picked tracks, romantic as hell, basically a sonic declaration of devotion. And there she was, years later, trying to hand me a song that said the same thing back. I just didn’t recognize it at the time.

How many car rides did it play?
How many times did she belt it out in the shower?

She was sharing.
I was half‑listening.

If I had truly heard “The Story” in that first year after she died, it would’ve wrecked me. Back then, the emotion was too raw. The reality of life without her was a bruise I kept pressing just to make sure it still hurt. I’m sure I skipped it. Changed the station. Found something safer.

I wasn’t ready.

Now? It still hurts. It always will on some level. But I hear what she was telling me in the words Brandi wrote. She loved me. She was meant for me. I was meant for her.

That’s what a great song can do.

A good song makes noise.
A great song makes a home.

It settles in quietly, plays in the background of your existence, and one day you realize it’s been there all along. Just waiting for you to be ready.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t need to.
I just sat there and let it be true.

And honestly?
That felt like progress.

And somewhere, out there in the dust of whatever this is, I can almost hear her:

“Seriously!? Now you decide to listen!? Asshole…”