WE’LL MEET AGAIN: Jimmy Fortune’s Tearful Farewell to Graham Greene
“Go in peace, brother.”
With that trembling line, Jimmy Fortune filled the chapel with both sorrow and hope. It was the funeral of Graham Greene, the Oscar-nominated actor from Dances with Wolves, who had passed away at 73. The room was hushed, lit softly by candles and the glow of stained glass, as Fortune stepped forward to the casket dressed in a simple black suit.
For decades, his voice had carried joy and comfort through the harmonies of the Statler Brothers. But on this day, it was stripped bare — no stage, no spotlight, only a friend saying goodbye.
Jimmy closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to sing.
The opening notes of “Because He Lives” rose gently into the silence. His tenor, fragile yet unshaken, rang out like a prayer. Each word carried the weight of conviction: that even in death, there is life eternal. His voice cracked with emotion but never faltered, pouring comfort into the hearts of every grieving soul gathered.
It was not a concert. It was not performance. It was testimony.
Each lyric seemed to weave sorrow with faith, reminding mourners that grief does not have the final word. “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,” he sang, the familiar refrain echoing like a promise across the chapel. Some clasped their hands. Others bowed their heads lower, tears streaming down their cheeks. A few whispered “Amen” through their sobs, joining their voices in quiet agreement.
For Graham Greene — a man celebrated for his role as Kicking Bird in Dances with Wolves, but remembered by friends for his humility, humor, and strength — the hymn carried fitting weight. Greene’s life had been one of depth and dignity, a journey that left an imprint not only on film but on the hearts of those who knew him best. Jimmy Fortune’s song honored that life with the simple truth of gospel hope.
The chapel seemed to lean into the sound, its wooden rafters holding the notes like a sacred vessel. It was as though time itself had paused, suspended in the fragile strength of Fortune’s voice.
When the last chorus came, Jimmy’s eyes brimmed with tears. His tone wavered but never gave way, pressing forward as if each word was both a burden and a gift: a burden of grief, and a gift of faith that refused to be silenced.
And then, silence.
The final note lingered before fading into stillness. The room did not erupt in applause. It could not. Instead, a hush held everyone together, sacred and unbroken. Jimmy stepped forward, placed his hand gently on the polished wood of the casket, and whispered once more:
💬 “We’ll meet again, brother.”
The simplicity of the phrase struck like thunder. It was not performance — it was promise. A vow that life does not end here, that love endures, that one day sorrow will be swallowed up in reunion.
The chapel remained still, heavy with reverence. Mourners wept quietly, moved not only by the loss of a beloved actor but by the hope that rang out in Fortune’s farewell. For many, the moment became the most powerful part of the service — not because of spectacle, but because of sincerity.
As Jimmy stepped back, his hand lingering for one last moment on the casket, those present knew they had witnessed more than music. They had been part of a benediction — one man offering his voice to ease the sorrow of many, to carry a friend into memory with dignity and grace.
Later, as mourners left the chapel, they carried with them not just grief but also the echo of Jimmy’s song. It was a reminder that even in our deepest losses, there is a thread of hope — a hope that sings through tears, whispers through silence, and assures us that goodbye is not forever.
Because in the end, Jimmy Fortune’s farewell was not about endings at all. It was about the faith that one day, in a place beyond sorrow, they will meet again.