My daughter plays the piano and I am carried through time. I hear the first chorded cry, after the lifesong of her body broke open my womb and burst forth like a melody. Our voices, separate, but blended as one.
The movement of her youth is passed. A lively staccato that made us dance and laugh. A twirling girl, a song to be carried on your shoulders. A springing singing, sweetly ringing, filling up the room. Allegro.
And the music changes and brings me back to this moment. Here she sits, at piano’s edge, a young woman. A slow adagio. A lilting, lullabied theme, the phrases lengthening, tremulous and sweet. And I listen.
Life is a passing song. Measure by measure, we are asked to open our hearts to it. To let it touch us. To let it move us. To let it change us from the inside out.
My daughter plays the piano and in my heart, I sing along.