One Note At A Time

 Slowly, I sit down at the piano...and pause. I wonder if I even remember how to do this anymore. If I've lost not only the music but also the passion...the ability...the desire. For the better part of two years, outside of teaching my students, I have not played. Because the love was gone. It died because a part of me died. And that part of me died because my best friend died. 

Up until that fateful May day when I learned the devastating truth that he was gone, I loved the music. I loved the music because I could feel the music but suddenly, in an awful split second, that feeling in my soul was gone. And I could no longer feel anything. I was numb. Distant. Un-alive. I questioned whether I'd ever get that old feeling back again. 

Time after time, I'd try to sit down and express myself through those keys. Because that had always worked before. But this time, it was different. I could not raise my hands to even push a single note. All I could do was sit and cry. 

Grief robs you of much more than just a person or place or thing. It robs you of the life you once had. And all the things that once brought you so much happiness now scream a cruel reminder of what is lost and will never be the same again. Grief is an unforgiving thief...and a soul-burglary you never wanted or asked for. 

For months, I've soldiered on and wondered if this was the end of the road for me in a way - if my years of playing for pleasure were over and this emptiness would be part of the burden of loss I'd carry the rest of my life. I seriously had my doubts on if I would ever sit down and see a day where I could string multiple notes together and not break down into a sea of tears. 

But lately, I've been trying to re-discover who I am on the other side of this sadness. Find out what life looks now as I slowly slip out of this sorrow into a new tomorrow. And in this searching, I've asked God to bring a renewal to my heart. To help me somehow find the strength to get up and move again. To find the dance again. To not just hear but feel the music again. Because I'll know it's another blow to despair when I do. 

And so now, here on this winter day...house quiet and just me alone with my thoughts...I suddenly get this tiny urge to try. To just go sit on the piano bench and try. Try to find a note...or two...or three. I could put this off until another time but, if I did, I might lose my courage. And so I act while I feel brave... 

...And isn't that how we all get re-made? By taking action in those things we want to avoid and telling ourselves that the bad won't have the last word? That Grace will get the final say? 

I wonder what I'm going to play, and there's only one piece that's coming to mind. And somehow, it seems oddly appropriate. It's in the minor key, and it's a cry for help. A prayer for peace. An asking for God to set all things right. And that's exactly what my soul is saying, feeling in this moment: 

O come, O come Emmanuel. 

I knew how to play this once...I should remember it. But do I? 

I get out the sheet music and gently, softly play the first notes. Only a few measures in, and I'm shocked at how much I've forgotten. And part of me wants to just give up and say I've lost too much and hasn't my heart told me the same thing in months prior? Said that I've seen too much pain to move on...given up too much to be grateful. But something keeps me playing the notes... 

A page goes by...

The two...

Then three...

And soon, before I know it, I'm at the end. It was rusty and full of mistakes. I even had to re-listen to the recording of this piece to recall how to play it and even then, I've stumbled a lot. Yet, even for as much as I'm surprised at how much I've forgotten, I'm equally startled at how much I remember. And isn't that the way of God? That in a tragedy, we can stun ourselves at how many promises and past goodness we are apt to suddenly ignore and forget but also how many mercies come to mind as well!

I sit for a minute and give myself credit for a small (but what seems like major!) victory. It's a win I'm willing to celebrate. Hours later, I'll text with the parents of the friend I lost and tell them there's not a day that goes by I don't think of him. They tell me they're sitting at the dinner table and were just thinking the same. It's been six years now (2 1/2 years for me since I heard) and the void is still present. We miss him so. But we're learning how to carry on without... 

And getting through a timeless carol and clinging to the truth that Emmanuel will come to us wherever we are is yet another step in that journey.