Canon in D begins streaming into my ears. I am in my kitchen, before the divorce, before my babies grew up and left home, before I developed a chronic case of severe depression. I stand barefoot on the pine floor, piano notes rise like fragrant flowers from our basement. I close my eyes and absorb the pleasure the old piano offers. My daughter plays and plays very well. She has natural musical talent; it moves me every time she plays. My heart lifts, and my soul is soothed.
Then I am back in reality; there were no children in the house. I wasn’t even in the house. I sat alone in a coffee shop, listening to songs from a website. Despite my effort to stay composed in public, tears, like little refugees from unbearable circumstances, escaped my eyes, and my heart ached.
Thank you, my daughter and my son, for making my life meaningful and overflowing with good memories.