I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this, but I c...
I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this, but I can’t get a handle on it, so I’m just going to write and hope I get this across…
My mother-in-law Joie Collins passed away earlier this month. Believe me when I say she was quite simply one of the loveliest human beings I’ve ever known.
To meet her, you’d immediately find her kind, humorous, determined—a supportive friend right away. You’d never know unless you asked just how extraordinary her life was.
Her sister, Sharon Sheeley, was a songwriter and penned “Poor Little Fool” for Ricky Nelson, which, for a time, made her the youngest woman to ever have a No. 1 Billboard hit. Because of their close relationship, Mary Jo (as Joie was called then) was thrust into the world of teen idols at a very young age.
Her second kiss ever was from Elvis Presley. In fact, in the film Jailhouse Rock, when the D.J. Teddy Talbot lists off the song dedications, one of the names he mentions is Mary Jo. That detail was requested by Elvis himself.
She befriended other legends such as Eddie Cochran, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Everly Brothers. Later in her life, those relationships and others led to a career in the music business, where she worked with artists like The Kinks, Randy Newman, Ry Cooder, Rickie Lee Jones, Neil Sadaka, and even discovered Jim Croce after hearing a demo he recorded in his bathroom. (Yes, you know “Big, Bad Leroy Brown” because of Joie.)
She was also married to rockabilly pioneer Larry Collins and they had a daughter named Larissa. Joie instilled in her an unwavering sense of kindness, justice, and commitment. And it is no stretch to say Larissa and Joie were not just mother and daughter, but best friends.
Some years after retiring from the entertainment business, Joie created The Salux Shop, a boutique company that sells imported Salux cloths, simply because she liked the product. She grew it from a small online shop into a globally recognized company used by clients like Cameron Diaz and Emma Stone.
Of course, those are all professional achievements. For me, those stories were fun, but what I enjoyed most about Joie was her boundless love and joy. If you had a funny story, she wanted to hear it and she would fill the room with her laughter as you told it. And when prodded, she would tell stories that were bafflingly entertaining—maybe about how she methodically stole an entire flatware set from a fancy English hotel or about how she accidentally wrecked her ex’s brand new Jaguar.
And, my god, she loved her grandkids. No matter what was happening in her life, if the boys were visiting their “Mimi,” everything else took a backseat. The boys once asked her if she could make stuffed animals for them. I thought it was a bit too much to ask, but she showed up 30 minutes later with her sewing machine, fabric, stuffing, and everything else you’d need to create a plushie of any size or design.
When our boys started playing music, she marveled at their performances and gushed more than I ever heard her talk about any of the literal rock stars she knew and worked with. Of course, that’s what wonderful grandmas do.
I loved her endlessly and the reason it’s taken me this long to write anything about it is because it all happened so fast, we’re all having a hard time processing the loss. Last June, she came to visit us, then mere weeks after that she was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. A little more than 6 months later, with her longtime partner David and daughter Larissa by her side, she passed.
She was gone. And the massive, joyful, magnificent place she held in our lives was suddenly empty.
Nothing can fill that void or take her place. But, I do love that I can see the bemused twinkle in her eye when I look at our boys or my wife. And I can hear her big untethered laugh when they find something funny. They have her kindness, her humor, her determination.
And because I had the privilege to know and love her, I do too.
