In Loving Memory Of Antoinette Lamia

Two days after releasing Phineas’ ashes in the mountains of Colorado, I flew to Illinois to tell my 101-year-old grandmother that I loved her before she transitioned. As I left her hospice room, my dad let me know he was watching over her — waiting to welcome her with pure love into a place where, as the song says, “there ain’t nobody feelin’ no pain.”

How do I know? The day before leaving Colorado, a band at his favorite live-music venue unexpectedly played one of his favorite songs - one tied to one of his most beloved places and musicians:

“Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love).”

The moment the first notes hit the air in Colorado, I froze. It felt like a gift - a thank you for releasing him into the Valley of Spiritual Growth.

And then, the miracle …  After saying goodbye to his mother for the very last time, I stepped out of her hospice room  and that same song was playing again. In a dark and empty dining room. Right outside her door. At the exact moment I walked out. Two states. Two sacred goodbyes. Two visits from the same song.

A divine echo, a cosmic nod, a clear sign of Phineas Magic.

Music has always been sacred to both of us. And in that moment - during a difficult and toxic family encounter - hearing his song again wrapped me in peace and certainty: “Maybe it’s time we got back to the basics of love.”

Message received, Phineas. Thank you for being with me still in spirit, in song, and in every quiet miracle along the way.