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In an effort to be conciliatory, I eventually agreed that the flag could be draped over his casket at the interment, away from prying eyes. When the service was over and his casket had been lowered into the earth, a member of the Marine Corps handed me the neatly folded Stars and Stripes from “a grateful nation.” I accepted it silently before turning to Frankie. “Here,” I said. “I’d like you to have this.” My husband’s only son seemed deeply touched by my gesture.

For Frank’s simple granite grave marker, I’d chosen the inscription FRANCIS ALBERT SINATRA. 1915–1998. BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER. Engraved along the top was the song title “THE BEST IS YET TO COME.” Lost in my grief standing at his graveside, I felt in that moment that the best had come and gone.

• • •

If I’d hoped for some time for quiet reflection after Frank’s funeral, I was to be disappointed. The condolence letters, prayer cards, and messages of sympathy from around the world swamped me. People were grieving for my husband whether they’d known him or not. He’d provided the sound track to their lives, and suddenly, it felt to so many of them, the music had stopped. Although I was overwhelmed by the volume of letters and cards, the outpouring of love and support touched me enormously. One of the most memorable notes was from James H. Billington, the librarian of the United States Congress, who wrote that Frank “taught tolerance for all people” and “transcended art.” He added, “Sinatra had no equal and will never be replaced.”

I had similar notes from presidents and kings, complete strangers, devoted fans, and distant relatives. Many claimed that the world had lost its greatest entertainer and that there would never be another like Frank. Faced with so many letters, I had response cards printed and edged in navy blue, each of which I signed personally. It was a mammoth undertaking, but it helped me get through each new day. The cards said,

Your thoughtful condolence has helped me through this difficult time. Frank was my love, my friend, and my knight in shining armor. My husband was a vital and dynamic part of his family as well as for people throughout the world. He has left a deep void in so many lives. Through his music Frank will live forever. May God bless you and hold you dear and as Frank would say, Sleep Warm.

For those I knew personally, I also slipped in a poem by Shannon Lee Moseley, which seemed to sum up Frank’s life and his passing. It read:

My life’s been full, I savored much;

Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.

Lift up your heart and peace to thee,

God wanted me now. He set me free.

When Frank rewrote his will in 1991, seven years before he died, he told me some of what he’d decided, but I didn’t know everything by any means. He’d always kept the business side of his life separate and had an excellent team to help him. All he promised me was that I would never need to worry about money or have to deal with any unforeseen issues after his death. It was just like the promise he’d made when I’d paid for our marriage license.

After Frank died, our attorney and his executor, Harvey Silbert, came to see me. Fortunately, there was to be no family reading of the will as the bulk of the estate had been divided up years before. Harvey then read me the full contents of the will before handing me a copy. Just as Frank had promised, everything had been taken care of. He left Frankie all his sheet music, which was a nice touch. That was Frank’s way. I had more than I could possibly need, yet I would have traded it all in a heartbeat for just one more day with my dearest love.

Life had to go on, and I was busier than ever not just with the children’s center but with taking over many of the charitable causes that Frank had supported. Friends were very kind and made sure that I was invited out to dinners and card games, parties and concerts, but I wasn’t in the mood to be sociable and preferred to stay home with my memories.

Bobby was a great support, of course, and called or flew in frequently