Tchaikovsky

The day before you died, I had been planning on going to work. But Marc and Amy both texted me early in the morning, letting me know about your turn for the worse.

In despair, I threw a few things into my bag, including my computer, and drove like a demon to get to Port Jeff.

You were feeling pretty horrible, and you hadn't slept much the night before. You had so much pain in your back, and it was harder than you'll ever know to stand there and smile at you when I wanted to melt down into a puddle of my own tears.

You didn't want to read, you didn't want me to read to you, and I was desperate to inject a moment of respite somehow. I pulled out my computer and offered to play Tchaikovsky's piano concerto - a piece we both love.

I skipped to the second movement, in which the notes morph into one of the most lovely, mellifluous, and graceful passages in music. During one of the passages, despite your profound fatigue, and the horrible noisy machines all around you, you lifted your right hand, and waved it softly along to the melody for a few minutes.

Your ability to momentarily transcend your surroundings and experience a moment of art is a lesson to me, and makes me aspire to take life's degradations more lightly than I do now.
xx