“FIVE WORDS FROM HIS FATHER THAT STAYED WITH HIM FOR LIFE.” Ben Haggard still remembers the night his dad quietly pushed him into the spotlight. No warning. No gentle, “You ready, son?” Someone just handed him a guitar, and when Merle turned around, he gave Ben one slow nod. That was it. And somehow, that tiny nod felt heavier than any speech. Ben said it was like being handed a lifetime of trust in one second. They played the whole set side by side, smooth as if they’d rehearsed it for years. Merle didn’t talk about it afterward, but a few days later Ben’s phone lit up with five simple words: “You played just like me.” He’s kept that message ever since.

Introduction

Some songs don’t just get sung — they stay with you. “If I Could Only Fly” is one of those rare, aching pieces that feels like a quiet whisper from the heart… especially when Ben Haggard performs it.

Originally written by Blaze Foley and later brought into the spotlight by Merle Haggard during the final chapter of his life, the song became something like a last confession — a slow, tender ache wrapped in melody. It speaks of distance, regret, and the longing to be closer to someone you love but can’t reach… not physically, not emotionally, not in this lifetime.

But when Ben sings it, something deeper unfolds.

It isn’t just a cover — it feels like a conversation. A son answering a father who’s no longer here. Ben doesn’t try to imitate Merle; instead, he lets the pauses speak, lets the song grieve and heal at the same time. Every note carries the weight of a legacy, but also the warmth of love that endures long after a person is gone.

If you’ve ever lost someone, or wished you’d said more while there was still time, this song will find you. And it won’t overwhelm you — it’ll sit beside you gently, like a memory you’re not quite ready to release.

“If I could only fly / I’d bid this place goodbye…”
In Ben’s voice, those lines feel like more than a wish — they sound like a promise.

Video

“FIVE WORDS FROM HIS FATHER THAT STAYED WITH HIM FOR LIFE.” Ben Haggard still remembers the night his dad quietly pushed him into the spotlight. No warning. No gentle, “You ready, son?” Someone just handed him a guitar, and when Merle turned around, he gave Ben one slow nod. That was it. And somehow, that tiny nod felt heavier than any speech. Ben said it was like being handed a lifetime of trust in one second. They played the whole set side by side, smooth as if they’d rehearsed it for years. Merle didn’t talk about it afterward, but a few days later Ben’s phone lit up with five simple words: “You played just like me.” He’s kept that message ever since.

“SHE NEVER SANG THAT VERSE WITHOUT THINKING OF HIM.” Reba McEntire confessed that there’s one line in “Does He Love You” that still catches her breath. She said Vince Gill once told her backstage, “You sing like you’re trying to save someone.” Reba admitted she never forgot that. When the spotlight hits her now, she sometimes closes her eyes for half a second — just enough to feel his presence, steady and kind, like he’s still harmonizing beside her. “Music keeps people close,” she said softly. “Closer than we think.”

“HE WROTE A LEGEND… ONLY BECAUSE HE WAS BROKE AND OUT OF IDEAS.” Jerry Reed always had his own rhythm — a way of doing things that never matched anyone else’s pace. He once said he was flat-out broke that day, mind empty, guitar in hand, just telling himself, “I’ve gotta come up with something I can sell.” And somehow, a few hours later, “Guitar Man” showed up like it had been waiting quietly in the corner of his mind. Elvis heard that original cut and fell in love instantly — so much that he went looking for Reed just to have him play on his recording. Nashville still laughs about one thing: “When Reed said, ‘Give me a minute,’ he was already done.”

“HE SANG CALMLY — BUT HIS HANDS TOLD ANOTHER STORY.” Don Williams always looked so steady under the lights — that warm smile, that slow, easy voice. But most people never knew what happened a few minutes before showtime. He’d sit alone in a dark corner, hands trembling, trying to breathe through the anxiety that never really left him. What saved him was the same small ritual every night. One quiet call home. His wife’s voice — gentle, steady — telling him, “You’ve got this, Don.” And somehow, he always did. There’s a song of his born from that love, that soft strength behind the curtain. I won’t name it… but if you listen closely, you’ll feel exactly who he wrote it for.