It’s too quiet in here, and I never find it relaxing anymore. Music used to fill the air, her voice used to wake me up in the morning for pancakes. Her voice used to shush my whimpers, as lightning cracked the night sky and moaned like thunder. Her voice used to sing me to sleep when the sound of rain against my window pane wasn’t enough.
All that’s gone now. She’s gone now, but her silence still remains. It mocks me in every step I take, my shoes echoing off the walls as I make my way to the music room, where I once found salvation. Sadness swells inside me as I run my fingers over the black and white keys of my mother’s Grand Piano. I reminisce about the times I’d sneak in here as a child, and hide under the piano as she played. She’d act like she hadn’t noticed, but the sound of me crunching on my animal crackers gave it away with every pause she’d make in between plays. She’d eventually stop playing, and peek under the piano with a playful smile on her face.
“McKenzie sweetie, come play with me”, she’d say with a gentle and calm voice.
I would sit on her lap as she slowly taught me how to play a snippet of her music, guiding my hands to the right keys. After a while of repeated the keys she let me see if I could do it on my own. She was always patient, and never got angry with me if I hit the wrong keys. She’d simply smile down at me, and say,
“Close, but it’s this one”, as she directed me to the correct key.
It would take a couple of weeks for me to fully play the song correctly, and as I played she’s hum along in harmony with me. We did this for all of her songs. This was our way of communicating. This was our bond.
Yet here I am now years later. I’ve learned all the songs, I remember all the keys, but all I’m missing is her harmony. I walk to the sliding doors to the left of the piano that leads to the backyard, where my mother will forever lie. Her tomb stone scratched, and worn down around the edges.
“Hi, mom” I say softly as I bend to sit down beside her. I reach out to run my finger over the words engraved so neatly into the marble.
“R.I.P.
Charlotte Caroline Oakwood
You will be forever loved, and missed.”
I use my finger to trace the word “missed”, over and over again as a pit forms in my stomach. I lost track of how many times I’ve heard the words “I’m sorry for your loss”, and through all these years I succeeded in being strong, and not letting my emotions show. But this one word causes my built up pain to blur my vision, frustrated and hurt I roughly wipe my eyes.
“God, I miss you”, I whimpered to her, but my voice cracked so much it sounded more like a whisper.
But I know she won’t respond. I know she won’t hold me in her arms, rock me, and wipe my tears away. I know she won’t hush my whimpers. I know she won’t because she can’t hear me anymore. But I somehow wish that she could, that she’ll tell me in some way that everything’s ok. That she’s ok, and that I’ll make it through this. My wishes go unanswered, the God I prayed to for two years still hasn’t answered my pleads for help. I suppose he’s got a lot on his plate, and I haven’t quite made it to the top of his to-do list yet. I haven’t played the piano in years, I no longer have a reason to, and so the silence continues.
I lift my head to look towards the flowers my mother and I had planted years ago. In the spring when they bloomed tons of butterflies would surround our garden, and my mother and I would sit on the benches with a cup of tea, occasionally my mother took pictures. She was a music major, but she loved taking pictures of wild life, butterflies being her absolute favorite. They were gentle, humble, graceful, and full of life, just like her. That’s how things used to be, but things have changed now, and the same flowers that would cause us so much joy now droop lifeless. They haven’t bloomed since my mother had died, and butterflies don’t come around here anymore.
At this point I’m exhausted, and I just don’t want to think about all of this anymore, so I decide to head back inside in hope of a distraction. I walk around the music room, and come across a box filled with a bunch of large, and thick books. Curiosity overcomes me as I carry the box to the living room and go through it. In the books are photos of my family at different events. One book was from my eighth birthday, another from the family reunion, and another from when we went to Disneyland. They’re scrap books, but then I come across a familiar old friend. My mother’s music book, and honestly I’m not sure if I feel excited on finding it, or sad that I had forgotten about it, and the idea of opening it after all this time gives me anxiety. I push my anxiety away as much as I can manage and go through the book. The paper is old and dusty, and the ink on the pages have bleed, due to the event of me spilling my tea on it so long ago. My mother’s familiar hand writing makes me feel hollow, and anxiety comes back and hits me like a ton of bricks. At this point I realize that I’m not quite ready for this yet.
As I close the book, and stand to place it back in the box a slip of paper floats to the ground. Still feeling numb I bend down to pick it up not really paying attention, until I take a moment to actually observe the paper. It’s a sheet of music with the title, “Kenny’s lullaby”. Kenny, that’s the nickname my mother had given to me. This song was for me. As I scan through the rhythm and keys of the page I realized that this was a song I had never learned or heard before. Following the pitch I began to hum the song to myself, unconsciously making my way over to the piano. Before I know it I’m slowly progressing in learning the song, but I also realize how alien the sound of the keys have come to me, yet at the same time the sound relaxes me and gives me a sense of security. In this moment I realize that although I couldn’t bring her back, I could fix the silence on my own. I decided to make it my responsibility to teach myself the last song.
So for weeks I would practice the song, often walking around the house humming it to myself just so I could get used to the rhythm and pitch. And every day I had noticed how much happier I had become it was a lot of hard work and time, and I occasionally got frustrated with myself for not getting the notes right. I would remember what my mom would say whenever I wanted to give up. I felt good for once in a long time, and this isn’t a feeling I am willing to give up so easily, so I took a deep breathe, took my time, and didn’t rush. Slowly but surely I was almost done with learning the song, and luckily I predicted that I’ll finish sometime before her passing. Although this song was for me, I wanted to play this for her, to show her that I’m ok, and that I’ll get through it.
So months, later on the day of her passing, I made a cup of tea, opened the back door, and took my place at the piano. I took a deep breathe, and looked toward my mom’s tomb stone, as if I imagining her listening. Then I began to play, and while I played I got this sense of freedom again, I wanted nothing more than to keep playing. And that’s exactly what I did, when I finished my lullaby I went back through the book and played my mom’s favorite song, “Cherry Tree”. Then moved to the next song, and then the next, and eventually I ended up falling asleep. I woke up to the feeling of someone tickling my nose, and I peeked through one eye to see I butterfly. I jump up with bewilderment as the butterfly flies out the back door. When I peel my focus away from the butterfly I see that the whole garden is filled with butterflies of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Astonishment overwhelms me as I take uneven step outside, and make my way to the bench. My astonishment suddenly turns to an overwhelming surge of happiness, and joy that causes my vision to blur, but this time I don’t wipe them away, instead I let them flow freely down my face. She heard me I think to myself, she heard me loud and clear. The flower bushes behind her stone have bloomed, and are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen them. A large butterfly floats delicately towards me, it flies around me twice then rest on my shoulder. And with a wide smile, and joy in eyes I say,
“Hi, mom”.