outpouring of love
image from upsplash by Vlad Antonov
“We cannot forget that our real power is not necessarily to change the world, but to make a world of change to the people we encounter every day.” – Cory Booker
Last month, my son’s piano teacher, Mr. Short died weeks shy of turning 75. Charles Short was an incredibly skilled musician and gifted teacher who studied music at USF in college and had the opportunity to travel to cities like New York and Seattle to perform.
When I visited Mr. Short one day in the hospital, we spoke about Hospice and palliative care. I was disheartened that no one, doctor, nurse, or social worker, had talked to him about what he wanted at the end of his life even though he could no longer swallow food due to late-stage esophageal cancer.
He became very clear in that conversation and looked at me with his crystal blue eyes and said assuredly that it was a blessing when clarity replaces fear. He knew what he wanted. No more invasive treatment. He cared about his beloved cat, Levi, and visiting with friends and family. He yearned to taste food again, still enjoyed listening to classical music, and wanted more than anything to be home.
He shared a story about a woman he met outside of the grocery store one day over the summer. He had become extremely frail and needed to sit down on a bench to catch his breath. A woman of similar age sat down next to him and asked if he was okay. He told her he was going through treatment for cancer and needed a breather. I can’t recall the exact words he told me, but the woman said something to the effect of you and I could sit here together, close our eyes, and drift off to heaven. In his distinct and witty manner, he said something back to her like trust me, you don’t want to spend an eternity with me. They both chuckled and then she made sure he got into his car safely. He was so touched by this complete stranger’s thoughtfulness and attention. He said it gave him faith in humanity and that he believed it was acts such as this where God could be found.
A team of us, friends and family did what we could to help him these last few months as he courageously endured intensive treatment. He was so appreciative and as a thank you had been planning to offer a concert at our house. One day while checking on his cat, I spotted a yellow legal pad with Chopin written in pencil. It made me smile, he always used a pencil and those legal pads in his lessons. He told me in addition to Chopin, he was also planning on playing Mozart, Brahms and Ravel. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind throwing in some Debussy too. “Claire de lune” was one of my mom’s favorites.
Another day he sent me a text that said great music is joy and that his piano teacher, Jacques Abram used to say music was liquid joy. One of my last memories with Mr. Short was when Josh and I went to visit him in a rehab facility and quietly listened to music together. His face lit up with delight.
Through his beautiful playing and magnificent teaching, so much joy has been unleashed and the ripple effect of this will bring tears to our eyes and smiles to our faces for a long time to come.
When our youngest was a baby, Will used to play lullabies for her to get her to calm down when she was crying and thankfully, it worked. Her little body on my thighs facing me, her bitty feet on my stomach, with the curtains of her eyelids slowly closing. Will also played a beautiful trickling piece that sounded like snow falling at my mom’s memorial service thanks to Mr. Short. I will forever treasure these memories.
But I miss Mr. Short’s presence in our home. I will miss his funny remarks about politics and politicians. I miss his sense of humor. Most of all, I miss him being a great supporter of and teacher to our son. I can hear his voice so clearly, it makes me smile to think about the way he greeted our dog, Poppy, when he came over. Or the way he said, how are you or congratulated Will on playing a piece or how he told him to listen. He never gave Will a hard time about not practicing enough or got upset with him when baseball games and tennis matches took precedence over his lessons.
Mr. Short was always on time and showed up to every lesson dressed neatly in a button-down shirt tucked in with a belt, loafers, and combed back hair. When he sat down at the piano and played, warmth and magic filled our home. It was like smelling chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.
The group text that my friend Julie and I began started as a way to get assistance and keep friends and family in the loop about his care has now turned into a space of sharing memories, photos, videos, and a deep appreciation for our friend and for one another. It’s been heartwarming to be a part of it.
He never did get to play his concert for us here which makes me sad. But I smiled big when my mother-in-law, Nancy, and my sister, Kerry, both said that maybe he was now with my mom tickling the ivories for her. When my mom was here visiting, she always did love hearing him play.
Today at home, after a circle with some wonderful women where we expressed our collective grief and with the rain falling outside, I put on “Jardins sous la pluie”, “a wonderful piece” Mr. Short had mentioned in a text. It was a reminder that whenever I need to shift the energy in my home or my heart and I need something uplifting, putting on music usually does the trick. Joy is exactly what I feel when I listen to music. Joy, and so much gratitude And the sense that music is another place where the sacred and divine resides.
I’m deeply appreciative to all our family and friends that helped contribute to Mr. Short’s GoFundMe. He was able to purchase a new refrigerator and feel so much support and love. One of the last things he said to me over facetime was that he felt the outpouring of love. On the toughest and darkest of days, caring for each other is what makes life more tolerable. And we are so lucky to have one another to care for.