For thirty years she’d been the pianist and organist at the
Protestant Chapel at Fort McPherson. A new career began when she retired. A
studio was built off the back of her house and a career of extending the beauty
of music to another generation began.
The music stopped when Sarah began to drift away to dwell in that land known as
Alzheimer’s. Her husband, Edward, asked me if I’d
like to go with him to visit. On the appointed day I was there bright and
early. Sarah greeted me with a nod of her head, but gave no sign of
recognition. My heart began to break for Edward and for Sarah.
I suggested we take her outside for a while, to let the sun fall once again on
her face. We did. Around and around the grounds we pushed her in the wheelchair,
speaking with her while not knowing if she really heard. If Sarah enjoyed the
warmth of the sun she gave no indication.
Back inside, we went to the recreation room. That’s where I saw it. Over in the
corner was an old upright piano, keys yellowed with age. Quietly, without a
word, I rolled Sarah over to the piano. She stared. Not a word was spoken. Nor
an indication of recognition came ….. until ….
I picked up her right hand and extended her index finger. Gently I brought it
down on the middle C key. She stared. And then slowly, ever so slowly, her left
hand began to lift. Both hands paused over the keys, and as if on some wave of
the wand of an unseen conductor her gnarly fingers caressed the keys.
“Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely days, dreaming of a song
….” She played Stardust with an ease and grace that would
have made Hoagy Carmichael proud.
After the nightingale had sung its fairytale, she paused a moment and then she
played some more. Her bent back straightened. Her face brightened. From that
old piano came the vibrant notes of Chopin’s Waltz in E Major. Her fingers
danced from key to key. Sarah was smiling. Sarah was living. Sarah was
back.
All around the room the residents tapped their feet to the rhythm of Sarah’s
melody. Smiles now decorated faces. Through Sarah’s fingers and the notes of
that od piano new life rolled down the halls. When Sarah played that last note
of Chopin, her audience applauded. She half turned toward them and nodded her
head. It was magnificent bow of gratitude considering Sarah and her condition.
Back to the piano she turned. The fingers rose and a simple, plaintive version
of Amazing Grace filled the air. Oh, how sweet the sound. She played all
the verses and, indeed, it seemed as though we could feast upon the beauty of
that music for ten thousand years. But we didn’t.
Sarah played the last note of the last verse. And then Sarah returned to that
land where we could not go. She remained there until she died. But I’ll always
rejoice that I heard the concert played when Sarah came home.
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