I have precious memories of my mom playing piano.
The melodies she played echo in my heart as I think about my childhood, and they remain a soundtrack to those memories.
My brothers and I all took piano lessons and practiced on that very piano as our little dog, Corky, sat underneath feeling the vibrations as we practiced.
The piano was the first thing you saw when we entered our house. It fit perfectly on the wall like the house was built for the black Wurlitzer.
On Sundays, as we bustled around the house getting ready for church, my mom would sit down and start playing the most amazing songs as she tickled the ivories. She would get louder and louder as the time would be near for us to leave, as if she were saying, “Let’s go!”
When my mom started showing signs of Alzheimer’s disease, she couldn’t remember how to play the piano anymore.
She would sit down to play and couldn’t remember how to read the notes. The piano lost its voice when she lost hers.
Now and then, when someone would visit my dad and notice the piano, it would get a good exercise, and I would close my eyes and remember the notes my mom would play. Those times were few and far between.
After my mom passed away and my dad sold our family home, the people who wanted to buy it asked if they could keep the piano. My dad was thrilled they loved it and wanted to keep it right where it was, so he agreed under the condition that if/when they sold the house, they would make sure the piano stayed in our family.
My dad passed away two years ago and I had thought about it a few times and wondered if I would ever see it again.
The day came when I saw my old family home was for sale about five years after they had bought it. I immediately reached out to see if they still had the piano and had honored my dad’s request.
Sure enough, I was told a date I needed to come get it by and it was all mine.
After making arrangements and finding some strong men to help and a trailer – pianos are HEAVY – we went and picked up the piano. The owner was so thoughtful to let us go in and see my old family home and reminisce. A neighbor next door came over and said, “Aren’t you Troy’s daughter?” and then proceeded to tell me so many sweet memories that they had of my father. It was such a sweet evening, an unexpected one that still has me verklempt.
The black piano full of memories came to live at my home.
I never really wanted a piano and I have not played for decades, but the emotions that came with that piano surprised me and have left me feeling like a piece of me that I didn’t know was missing is home.
Maybe my dad knew that I would need this memory of my mom, whom I miss dearly. He always did know what I needed and made sure I was taken care of.
I sat at the piano this morning and started playing. Turns out, I remember more than I thought I did from the years of lessons, and it looks like I’ll be making my own memories on that black piano.
