The piano player’s daughter.
The music stopped.
But in my heart.
It still plays.
There are good memories I have of my father. Sweet memories. Hours spent listening to him play the piano. Watching his fingers fly over the keys like they were nothing. Laughing as he would do his best Jerry Lee Lewis impression. Worshiping together in tent meetings. These memories I like to keep alive.
I think of the times we spent at my grandparents. My grandpa played the violin. My father played the guitar. My grandmother and I would sing. Hymns. Folk Songs. I adored my grandparents, but adored my father even more.
I am thankful for this gift from my father. Music is such a huge part of me. I can’t imagine being a day without it. Whether I’m singing or listening, harmony keeps me grounded.
It’s been almost 4 years since I’ve heard his voice. Given him a hug. Sang along with his strumming guitar. The years go by and it gets easier.
I choose to continue to walk forward, not looking back. My past may be as black as the sharp keys on his keyboard. My future is going to be as bright and beautiful as the ivory on my own.