photo by zen

“Now is wow.”  said Diem.

Knowing he knew that I knew that he knew he was right is why I smiled.  It was the last thing I could do before I began to cry.

So many things to do,  a letter to answer, a room to clean, a son to feed.  And my writing, a daily ritual of teasing out a story on a keyboard.  How now?

Now.  Right now I am staring at another keyboard I have spent my entire life learning, traveling to Austria because of, and now somewhat afraid to approach.  There was a time where my days revolved around this keyboard, suspended in its power to enchant, determined to master its every nuance, challenged with every new work.

I also shared so many of these days with someone who is no longer here.

My sister and I were pianists.  Piano recital performers as little girls, four handed piano duet partners, chamber music and solo performers.  I cannot think of playing the piano without thinking of her.

I miss her every day.  By avoiding the piano in my living room, I thought I would avoid confronting her inevitable musical absence.  Her well worn book of Beethoven Sonatas, Book I lay unopened in  the piano bench where I could not see it.  The Schumann Papillons covered with her pencil markings,  the piano pieces by William Bergsma.  How foolish of me to think I would not hear them as they were not already recorded in my memory forever.

Now.

I walked away from my iPad, my laptop, turned off the desk computer.  I dusted off the keys of the piano and made a mental note to call the piano tuner.  Now.

Remy came out to the front porch, sitting, listening to me play for the first time since she died.  Such a hot evening, all the windows in the house were open, I wondered if people sitting by the bay wall could hear me.  I played as if I had been called to the principal’s office, tentatively, timidly, apologetically.

I played and I heard each note mourn.  As if the keys knew I had returned this time as a soloist.

How I wish I could say that I felt better, that the healing had begun, that music heals all wounds.  I only know that the time to play the piano again is now.

Thank you, Diem.

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