The Music of My Heart.

It began with ballet lessons.  It led to piano lessons, voice lessons and the saxophone.  It ended singing from the choir loft for my grandpa.  I remember the last song I sang solo.  The lyrics flow from my mouth like sun rays on a clear summer morning.  The melody comes back to me as easily as ironing a shirt. The song is sweet and holds a very dear place deep within me.  

Grandpa called it my "one one" and I remember leaving my ballet recitals saying "no Grandpa it isn't a one one it is a TU TU".  He would laugh and then squeeze me so hard while I giggled out of control.  I know now why he would hug so hard....so that we would not forget what Grandpa's hugs felt like.  Oh I loved him so much. Loving your Grandpa is one of those unique loves.  It isn't like loving a mama or a daddy.  It isn't the same as loving a sister unconditionally.  It is as pure as the day is long.  Loving someone that much because they love you that much more.  It is a Sunday afternoon brunch and sitting by the campfire kind of love.

I remember my Grandpa being a hard worker.  He was tough and his hands were those of a man who had worked.  He was gentle with his 27 grandchildren and he loved my Grandma.  I loved going to work with him.  I would sit in his big comfy red office chair with a note pad and a pen.  Grandpa was an auctioneer for quite some time (among many professions he held) and I loved the weekends I would get to watch him work and every once in a while I would get to help.  I remember how proud I was to call him Grandpa in front of a crowd and how big I felt to help him.

When he got sick, I remember watching him slowly leave his body.  On a very special night before he passed away, I was able to spend time alone with him.  He had not been able to communicate in quite some time and would lay in bed without expression.  On this night, I sat next to him in his bed and he was staring up into the ceiling as if looking down the road to Heaven.  I held his hand and as tears fell from my eyes I asked "Grandpa are you scared?".  He turned to me and only for a moment the ends of his mouth curved to form a smile and he shook his head no and squeezed my hand.  As I lay next to him for quite some time, I cried.  It was a moment I will never forget.  He passed away very shortly after this night.

Grandpa never missed a recital that I played piano in and loved to listen to me sing.  As our family planned his funeral, my Grandma came to me and told me that Grandpa would have wanted me to sing at his funeral.  To this day, I have never been more honored.  The day came and as I stood in the choir loft watching my family follow his casket into St. Michael's Church, the lyrics and melody came together in sweet sound as I sang "Be Not Afraid".

It is said that we each have our own music which our heart beats to.  Each time I am scared of what the future might hold I remember the last day I sang and the lyrics come back to me....just like he would have told me, be not afraid.