A Confidential Account of a Close Friend's Struggle in Today's Economy: How Would it Feel? Putting Myself in His Shoes...
It felt like a visit by the mortuary’s henchmen. They came. I couldn’t bare to be around the jovial nature of the older of the two. His attempts to humor me were brushed aside. I think he finally got it…thinking me to be the unfriendly type.
It took the pair the better part of twenty minutes to cart away that which I had labored for months to bring into our home. The younger, more spry helper, immediately jumped under and unfastened what must have been bolts, I guessed. He was quick. The older man put a heavy thick blanket over the top. It reminded me of the type that is draped over a coffin after a burial rite when the service is over and the mourners are leaving.
Their last steps passed through, and the door was closed behind them. I stood looking into the empty space of the room where the piano once rested. The room from which once found the beautiful sounds by the gentle caresses of my daughter's little fingers.
My daughter approached the piano always without constrain. It was like the gentle lure of a pleasant spirit. Moments of seemingly absorbed engagement in another space could be suddenly disrupted. A dash to the instrument would follow. The moment she arrived, she would not think to herself; “what am I going to play?” No! As if in a continuing fluid motion music simply began to fill the air of our beautiful home. It could only be described as the sound of happiness and joy. Now it was gone. This has been one of the saddest day’s of my life.
It took the pair the better part of twenty minutes to cart away that which I had labored for months to bring into our home. The younger, more spry helper, immediately jumped under and unfastened what must have been bolts, I guessed. He was quick. The older man put a heavy thick blanket over the top. It reminded me of the type that is draped over a coffin after a burial rite when the service is over and the mourners are leaving.
Their last steps passed through, and the door was closed behind them. I stood looking into the empty space of the room where the piano once rested. The room from which once found the beautiful sounds by the gentle caresses of my daughter's little fingers.
My daughter approached the piano always without constrain. It was like the gentle lure of a pleasant spirit. Moments of seemingly absorbed engagement in another space could be suddenly disrupted. A dash to the instrument would follow. The moment she arrived, she would not think to herself; “what am I going to play?” No! As if in a continuing fluid motion music simply began to fill the air of our beautiful home. It could only be described as the sound of happiness and joy. Now it was gone. This has been one of the saddest day’s of my life.