Peonies in Cut Glass
Oil on Museum Quality Panel
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When we were young, my Mother would go into the piano room and play Fur Elise while we finished our homework. Sometimes she played for hours. At times she labored through the notes and, at other times, the music seemed to flow from her fingertips. Today when my sisters and I met at the farm, it was the first day I was there when my Mother's home no longer was filled with her presence. Where her hospital bed had sat in the living room, an empty space now waits.
I went into her piano room and opened the old wooden bench, where her sheet music was stored. Fur Elise lay on top, with notes on pages yellowed with age and corners crinkled from years of use. Beneath were other songs she would play for us, the Christmas music, children's songs, and some classical pieces. But the only thing I took with me today from my Mother's home, was Fur Elise. I'm learning to navigate a new path now, a life where my Mother can no longer be held and touched. These tangible notes, her music and poetry, the things she loved, are now so very precious to me. Paper and words, they weigh so little, but they will anchor me when I miss her most.