Friday, January 13, 2006
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10:46 a.m.
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There is a moment in my life I keep coming back to. The kind that crystalizes in your mind, a feeling, a place, a person that becomes part of the core of who you are. This one involves my grandmother.Ada Wilkinson, one of the kindest souls I have ever met, eventually had no choice but to live in a retirement ward in a hospital in Scarborough. Going there wasn't fun as the smell of anti-septics, medication, and entrophy was absorbed into everything. Even the white floors glistened with the off-white yellow stain that only sunlight and constant wear can drive into objects.
My father went every weekend to see her. One of my greatest shames is that I didn't go as often as I could have, not because I didn't love my grandmother, but that I couldn't bear the feeling of sadness that came with those trips. You don't make them that often when people are strong and healthy. Only when it's near the end.
One day, my father and I took my grandmother into a hall in the building. It was dark, and only a few lights lit the stage and a grand piano on the floor in front of it. The tables had sheets on them, chairs turned upside down to help the cleaners polish the floors. The balcony was empty.
I asked her if she came here often. "Not often, lovey. They have some people come to play, but not often."
I can play the piano. It's a skill that has fallen off as I haven't done it in any regular amounts for years. At that point, I was still tinkering often enough that I felt okay sitting on the bench, lifting the lid, and brushing off the dusty keys. I'd written a few songs in my spare time. Nothing to make Mozart envious, but nothing to cringe at. I could also play a few contemporary songs. I knew it would make her happy.
The music wasn't any different than any other time I played, but somehow it was stronger and richer than I had ever heard. It filled up the hall and into those dark spaces. My grandmother had her eyes closed and she gently tapped her leg with her hand, keeping time with the music.
As time went on, others came in when they heard the music. There were two people in the balcony, quietly listening. It was my first real audience. I can imagine them walking down the hall and hearing it. Being curious and grateful for the distraction.
When I finally stopped, all too soon now in my mind's eye, there was polite applause. My grandmother smiled and told me she thought it was beautiful.
My grandmother gave me a piano when I was a boy. I learned how to play it, but I never loved it. I didn't understand what a gift it was, what a gift it came to be. She passed away a few years ago. I remember crying when I got the call.
This moment was brought back to my mind by a song driven heavily by a piano. Most songs like it do. The song is 'The Scientist' by Coldplay.
"Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start"
Posted by
Parallel
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