The only person I had known for over fifty-five years who wasn’t a blood relative passed away recently.
His name was Tony. I had known him since I was a teenager. He taught me how to play guitar and sing. He was a calming influence on me — though neither of us realized it at the time.
His name was Tony. I had known him since I was a teenager. He taught me how to play guitar and sing. He was a calming influence on me — though neither of us realized it at the time.
Our lives sometimes overlapped on purpose, and sometimes drifted apart. We always got along well, and for decades we exchanged Christmas cards. Tony would always send the gift of music — a jazz CD, or something nostalgic, or a reminder of holidays long ago with his parents and sister.
Time passes so quickly, and we hardly notice.
Tony’s niece texted me to say her uncle had passed away, and that the funeral would be in a few days. For some reason, memories of our times together — and of all the time we missed — came flooding back and overwhelmed me. At first, I couldn’t cry. I don’t know why. But eventually the tears came, in little bursts.
It was the memories that struck me most. Memories I hadn’t thought of in years: how Tony was such an excellent musician and singer, with a voice like velvet. He was personable, likable, generous with his knowledge and time.
At the funeral, his sister had heartbreaking outbursts of grief. Along with others, I tried to console her. She was so distraught she nearly fainted. She truly loved her brother.
The priest gave his usual comforting words and added that Tony would now be playing music with the angels. It sounded… delightful.
Everyone in attendance was weeping, upset. We all needed consoling.
After the service, I walked home. The funeral home wasn’t far.
It struck me as a stark reminder: we must cultivate our lives, and strive to be happy and whole while we can.
It struck me as a stark reminder: we must cultivate our lives, and strive to be happy and whole while we can.
About a week later, Tony’s sister called and said he’d left behind a few guitars — and she wanted me to have one. I was thrilled. It’s an acoustic Epiphone guitar.
She dropped it off, and the moment I held it, I fell in love with music all over again. I haven’t played in years, but now I’ll buy new strings, a case, some picks, and a book of children’s songs to play for my grandson.
Tony has consoled me with this gift. From his heavenly perch, my dear friend has given me an unexpected inheritance: a beautiful guitar.
As the strings hum, and so does his memory in my heart.
Georgia
No comments:
Post a Comment