Key Memories
By Beverly Ohlendorf © 2006
I'm in a contemplative mood as a sit down to the piano. My son and his girlfriend just called with the fantastic news that they became engaged a few minutes ago. They're both in college in Minnesota, however, and I live half a world away. I wish I could jump up and down and hug them. At the same time, I want to cry, because I'm losing my youngest, the baby boy that I rocked to sleep only last night, or so it seems. As I pushed the off button on my phone, the beep seemed to echo through my empty house. First it was my beautiful daughter, who left three years ago for a life of her own with her husband in far-off Wisconsin. Now my only other child has also grown up and away from me. I know; this is what my husband and I have been working for all these years--for them to gain their independence and "fly away." But that doesn't mean it won't be a little painful when it happens.
My favorite piece of music is open, so I play the first few lines of the "Moonlight Sonata" and the memories begin to wash over me.
As I lightly touch the keys, my fingers remember the first time they ever played on these keys. My mother and father bought this piano for me over forty years ago. I can remember as if it were this very minute the first time I played on it. I came home from school, and there it was! The most beautiful piano I had ever seen, right there in the living room of our old farmhouse on the family farm in Iowa. I was only about 10, but even then a new piano was one of the best gifts anyone could have ever dreamed of giving me. My mother's love of music had wended its way down through my bloodline, and her new piano eventually became mine.
The familiar melody continues passing from my fingers into the keys, then filling the room with the beautiful strains of the music. As the notes crescendo into a climax, my mind remembers all that has happened on this now "gently-used" instrument. Lessons have been given on it to "kids" of all ages. Here I have practiced hours on end for weddings, funerals, church services, even 4-H talent shows.
As my children were growing up, I used this wonderful instrument to unlock the love of music in them. They were both taught the wonders of music, and appreciation for all types of musical genres here. At first my strong-willed daughter thought the keys were there to be pounded with her Fisher Price toys, but soon enough she learned that they were only for music-making, and she became a wonderful musician in her own right. Today I am very proud to hear her play the piano.
I smile through tears as I continue the beautiful song, which I played at her wedding. I remember with fondness the many hours my lovely daughter, who now lives thousands of miles from me, and I spent on these very keys. I gave her many years of lessons. Later we played duets. We sang Broadway hits. I accompanied her on the flute. We laughed. We cried.
And so I realize, as I quietly play the final bars of Beethoven's timeless sonata, that I'm not really alone at all. These piano keys have unlocked the memories that I will always be able to cherish. My piano is no longer shiny and polished. Some of the keys are beginning to crack, and the lower register doesn't stay in tune like it should. Middle C sticks once in a while, and the tone isn't as mellow as I remember it. But it's still the most beautiful instrument in the world to me, because my parents, who recently left this world, still linger with me whenever I play it. The laughter and voices of my children continue in my mind and heart whenever I sit here; so many hours were spent on this bench with them, laughing and singing together. In actuality, my whole life revolves around this piano, and its 88 keys will keep those memories forever playing their melody in my heart.
The End
I'm a 4th grade teacher in a small school in a low economic level area of North Carolina. My husband is the pastor of a church, where we have been for almost 14 years. We are both originally from the Midwest, but love living in the South. Now both of our children live in the North/Midwest again. What goes around comes around. Both my son and daughter are great writers in their own rights, and have won contests in writing.