Ricky Skaggs’ Farewell to Brandon Blackstock
The chapel was quiet, holding that rare kind of silence that carries both grief and grace. Sunlight filtered softly through stained glass, painting the pews in muted colors. At the front, the casket of Brandon Blackstock rested beneath a blanket of white roses — a symbol of love from those who had come to say goodbye.
From the side of the stage, Ricky Skaggs stepped forward. His eyes were lowered in reverence, his mandolin cradled like something sacred. Without a word, without an introduction, his fingers found the first notes of “Where The Soul Of Man Never Dies.”
The melody was pure and unhurried, each note ringing like clear water in a quiet stream. As his voice entered, the harmonies rose — gentle, steady, and full of longing — like a prayer drifting upward from another world. The lyrics spoke of a place beyond sorrow, where goodbyes are never final and where the faithful find rest.
In the front row, Reba McEntire sat with her hands folded, her head bowed, the song washing over her like a soft benediction. Family and friends closed their eyes, some mouthing the familiar words through trembling lips. The congregation seemed to lean into the sound, as though each note was carrying them closer to the place the song described — a land where the soul never dies.
Ricky’s voice didn’t break; instead, it carried the quiet strength of someone who believes in every word he’s singing. Each chord felt like a reassurance, each harmony like a thread tying grief to hope. For those few minutes, the chapel no longer felt bound by the walls around it.
When the last chord faded into stillness, Ricky stood with his head bowed, the mandolin resting against his chest. There was no applause — only the sound of quiet weeping and the soft shuffle of feet as mourners shifted in their seats. The air felt heavy, yet somehow lighter, as if the song had lifted some of the weight from the room.
In that stillness, the comfort of believing took root — believing that Brandon had already crossed into that promised land, where the music never ends and the pain of parting is gone forever.
For those in the chapel, the song was more than a performance. It was a gift — a reminder that even in the deepest valleys of loss, faith still whispers that there is more beyond this life, and that love can follow us there.