If ever you Google “How to pick the perfect, non-cliché wedding song,” you’ll come up with criteria much like Fred and I used in 1986. We wanted something personal, not generic like the plastic couple on top of the cake. “In My Life” by the Beatles fit the bill — a love song that conveys deep emotion while skirting syrupy sentimentality.
The minute Fred suggested it, I ditched my original suggestion of “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder, which I still adore, sappiness and all. While Stevie Wonder appealed to the starry-eyed romantic in me, the Beatles spoke more to Fred and me as collaborators — and what’s marriage if not the ultimate collaboration?
Like Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol,” the Beatles’ classic from “Rubber Soul” explores past, present and future to chart a tale of transformation. Both Fred and I had rich experiences in our 20s and early 30s with his like a chapter from a Jack Kerouac novel and mine like an episode from “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” but nothing matched what we had together.
Fast forward a few decades to my early widow days, and this favorite song of mine became as painful as an abscessed tooth. I was stunned that something so integral to my youth — and to the life Fred and I built together — had suddenly become tangled up with his illness. The band that scored my adolescence, fueled our road trips and serenaded our wedding was also the one I associated with his sad final months during which we communicated mainly by singing along to Beatles videos on my laptop. I felt so sucker-punched by those memories that the seemingly impossible had occurred: I broke up with the Beatles.
For months, I avoided the Beatles Channel on Sirius XM like my car would blow up if I touched the button. During my hiatus from the fab four, I took comfort in knowing that Fred and I had steered clear of some popular wedding songs with lyrics that should have raised eyebrows but didn’t.
Take “Every Breath You Take” by The Police, for instance. Listen closely, and this supposed love song sounds more like a stalker’s manifesto. “I’ll be watching you” is not the same thing as “I’ll be there for you.”
Then there’s Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together,” sung in a silky voice that oozes romance. But you can feel a breakup coming on. Hmm, not exactly a promising way to start a marriage.
And of course, Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman,” the ultimate anthem of unhinged devotion. “If she is bad, he can’t see it.” Sounds like the poor man desperately needs therapy.
Thank goodness Fred and I went with “In My Life.” What I love about the song is how it’s structured. It opens with “There are places I’ll remember / All my life, though, some have changed,” then pivots to the present. The harmonies, together with George Martin’s baroque-sounding piano, give the song its depth and charm.
Great song, yes. But was I ready to let it back into my life? Truth is, the Beatles are like oxygen — you can’t avoid them for long. How ridiculous to think I could ever break up with them!
One sunny afternoon, I flipped to the supposedly safe ’60s pop channel and was instantly ambushed. Those first unmistakable notes chimed through the speakers: “There are places I remember …”
I froze at a stoplight, gripping the wheel as if bracing for impact. But I made myself listen, and I survived. As Lennon sang about friends and lovers who’d gone before, I realized he was offering me permission — to miss Fred, yes, but also to keep living.
I’ve come to believe the songs that once flattened us are often the ones that define us. We may skip them for years, but someday we find the courage — or the sheer inevitability — to hear them again. And when that happens, you realize something profound: you’ve survived the song. The lyrics still tug, but they no longer unravel you.
So yes, you’ll hear that special song again — and survive. You might even sway a little, right there in traffic, singing to someone you can’t see but still feel beside you. The world rushes by, horns blare, but the music plays on. And so do you.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter — complete with links to bonus content such as music videos and fun facts — by emailing her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.