Epilogue - Kyrie One Year Later

Home Sweet Home

" H e's so adorable with his tiny, little noise-canceling headphones on." My Mom swoops in and steals little CJ out of my arms, kissing his chubby little cheeks. "I'll take him. Why don't you go out there and sing with your man." She nudges my arm before taking him back to the dressing room to sleep off his big day.

CJ just turned three months old. Crue didn't want to go on tour this soon after his birth, but his fans begged him to start the tour earlier than initially planned. After I gave him my blessing, Crue's manager was able to keep the opening leg of the tour close to home.

I strut out onto the stage to the roar of the crowd as Crue plays the first cords of Fast Car. I grab the microphone and belt out the words to one of my favorite songs from the '80s, with the man I love accompanying me on acoustic guitar.

The crowd goes wild, making me finally understand the thrill of the tour—singing in front of thousands of people who love you. I'm not sure if it's me they're cheering for or for each one of the band members as they join in with the song on their instrument of choice, but it doesn't matter—the feeling is only second to the love I feel for my family.

I look at Crue, and he smiles at me, silently encouraging me to continue the song. I belt out the chorus as the crowd sings along, and the moment feels so surreal. All the memories of the good times on the road with my parents and their bands come rushing back.

Why did I ever wish for anything other than the love and encouragement I received from everyone who moved in and out of my life while I was touring with my parents? While most kids were learning geography in a boring classroom, I was living it. My parents made sure to make time to stop at every significant historical location in every city they toured. How many fourteen-year-old kids can say they learned about the Eiffel Tower while sitting on the observation deck looking over the Banks of the Seine? Or how many people can say their music teacher was none other than Stevie Nicks? That's the life I want for my children.

The song ends, and Crue slides his arm out of the guitar strap and over his head, handing it off to one of the roadies, who whisks it off stage. Crue makes his way to my side and pulls me in tight for a hug before placing a kiss on my lips. "I love you, Wife," he says against my lips over the roar of the crowd.

"And I love you, Husband." I shout back before placing my lips against his ear, "I have a few holes I need you to fill."