Letting Go

When I was in second grade my parents bought an old upright piano and I began taking piano lessons.  Except for 1 year when my  piano teacher moved away,  my lessons went from second grade through my first year of college – 11 years of lessons!  The old upright was replaced with a new spinet when I was in junior high.  Boy did that new Wurlitzer shine!  Since I was the only one in the family who played the piano it was eventually passed down to me.  It was with me briefly after I moved out after graduation, then due to various moves the piano returned to Mom and Dad’s house for a while.  In 1984, the piano returned to be with me for good.  I know, it sounds pretty sentimental for a piece of furniture, HEAVY furniture mind you, but you have to understand the history this piano and I had.

My parents endured years of me practicing....loudly and badly. They heard me play my favorite songs over and over with never a complaint.  Once in a while my Mom would sit down and play a little bit, but more often we would get out a book of music that had songs she grew up with and I would play and Mom would sit next to me on the piano bench and sing.  I loved those times!  If I played the wrong notes Mom just kept singing along, acting as if she didn’t hear them.

I played piano and organ for church, played piano for choir and swing choir in high school, played for various community activities, accompanied others at contest, and did piano solos at contests, so this piano and I had spent a lot of time together over the years.  I even gave lessons when I was in high school.  These were the same keys I practiced on hour after hour for months to earn my music scholarship.  Maybe that helps you understand why all was right with the world when the piano came back to me for good in 1984.

With young kids and being a busy mom I didn’t play it as much, but it was always comforting knowing it was there.   Mom would visit and ask if I had been playing the piano and the response was usually, “Not as much as I would like.”  That piano has been part of my home for 28 years now.  It has sat there, patiently waiting until I have time to sit down and play a bit, but over the years it has gotten less use.  It has gotten to the point where it isn't a matter of time anymore, but rather knowing when I sit down to play it won't come with the ease it used to, and that is hard to accept. 

This is the year of home projects with the next one including work on our living room.   After being in our home for 6-1/2 years we decided we needed to make the most of our living space and that means the time has come for the piano to be passed on.  While I knew it was the right thing to do, that piano was my gift from my Mom and Dad.  Just looking at it I can see Mom sitting next to me on the bench, singing and turning pages for me as I played.  The thought of not having that piano sitting there waiting for me when I had time (or the courage) to play it again, was hard to imagine.

My daughter, Liz, took piano lessons briefly when she was young and plays some.  She wants her children, Liam and Morgan, to take lessons some day if they have interest in it, so the logical thing was to give it to her, and of course I wanted to keep it in the family.  A week ago I went through my piano music to see what to keep and what to pass on to Liz.  I came across my recital pieces I did when I was a child.  I came across that book that Mom loved to sing from.  I also found the book that had the piece of music I played for my music scholarship.  After looking through the music, I thought I should take the opportunity to sit down and play - one last time.

After 18 years of doing my job as a medical transcriptionist,  I have a couple of fingers that are starting to catch.  I notice it mostly when doing scrubbing, etc., things that put more force on those fingers.  When I sat down to play the piano that day, those same fingers struggled.  My hands were telling my heart what it knew all along, it really was time to pass the piano on.

So with a little lighter heart, the help of some wonderful guys in the neighborhood, (Luke, Rob, Michael, and Jesse),

and a U-Haul trailer......the piano now has a new home. 

I hope that my grandchildren learn to play and enjoy it as much as I have.   I hope they will indulge their mom if she wants to sit next to them and sing while they play. And I hope that once in a while, if their Grandma wants to sit down, they will ignore the wrong notes she hits, just like their great- grandmother did.  Most of all, I hope they find as much joy in music as I did. 

The piano has lost its sheen over the years. It has a few scratches here and there and it is a bit the worse for wear, but life has taught me that there is beauty in imperfections ­– they create character and memories, they mean you have experienced life. I wouldn’t trade one scratch on that piano for the memories it has given me. If there are a few more scratches added over the years by my grandchildren, it will simply mean that piano is getting played once again, as it should be.

When it came time to leave my daughter's house yesterday we gave hugs and kisses.  Liam asked his Mom if he could please play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and as we were walking out the door we heard a 4-year-old child playing the most creative rendition ever of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and singing his heart out.

Once again, all is right with the world.