It was a quiet morning at Hardison Mill, just outside Columbia, Tennessee. The sun had barely broken through the clouds, and Rory Feek was sitting on the back porch, coffee in hand, guitar resting beside him, when his daughter Indiana, now 10, climbed into his lap — eyes wide with wonder, innocence… and a question.
“Daddy,” she whispered, “when can I see Mama again?”
Rory didn’t answer right away.
He looked out at the pasture — the one Joey used to walk through in the evenings, barefoot and humming. The one she loved most in spring. He took a breath, steadying himself, but his voice caught.
“I just… I held her close,” he said later. “And I cried. Because there are some questions a father can’t answer with words.”
It’s been nearly a decade since Joey Feek passed — the singer, the mother, the heart of a duo that carried faith like a melody. And yet, even now, her presence lingers in their home like the echo of a hymn.
Indy was just two years old when her mother died. She doesn’t remember her voice clearly. But she remembers the way people talk about her. The photos. The videos. The songs. The way her daddy’s eyes soften when her name is spoken.
“She remembers the love,” Rory says. “And in some ways, that’s more than memory. That’s soul.”
He told her, as best he could, that her mother is with Jesus. That heaven isn’t far. That the music they sing together sometimes feels like it reaches just high enough to touch her.
“She nodded,” Rory said. “And then she asked if we could sing Mama’s song together.”
So they did.
Out on the porch, with the wind rustling the old wind chimes, Rory picked up his guitar and played “When I’m Gone.” Indiana sang softly. Not perfectly. But purely — with the kind of childlike faith that breaks you open and stitches you back together in the same breath.
“I don’t have answers,” Rory wrote in his journal later. “But I do have her. And I have Joey. And somehow… that’s enough.”
Because some songs aren’t finished.
They just wait — for the day all three voices will sing together again.