My Piano: Grief Wildflowers

My Piano: Grief Wildflowers


My mother played piano. It's how she met my dad, accompanying him as he sang  She played the piano in church, sometimes at school, and taught lessons to kids in the community. It was her favorite thing.

I remember her playing through sheet music for hours, clearly lost in the activity, completely engaged.  It makes me sad and nostalgic to think about the little hands of her six children, reaching up and plunking the low keys as she played.  As they grew older, interrupting to ask for a snack, tattle on a sibling, or to ask for a ride to a friends house.  I can see the kids changing and growing older, but my mom and her piano stay the same.

Now my daughter's want to learn to play. They write on the keys with a dry erase marker, trying to keep track of the notes.  I have to find someone to teach them, but I know I'll never find anyone as wonderful as her.  I'm hesitant, but I know I have move past it.  My mother loved piano, and maybe now one my children, one of her grandchildren, will learn to love it as well.


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