I recently became the owner of a piano.

sigh

I don’t play, nor do my children. It belonged to my grandmother. You see, my grandmother DID play the piano. She was an opera singer in her day, talented and beautiful. She was gifted this piano at fifteen years old and it’s been in her house ever since. She moved it from place to place as she grew up, got married, had children, and settled into adult life where she used it to teach lessons. It’s been in my family for almost 100 years. A piece of my childhood. An outdated instrument I remember banging on as a kid whenever I’d visit.

My grandma and I are very close. When my family was homeless, she took us in no questions asked. My grandfather had already passed on and she was alone. Yet, she settles into a room in her home and let us take over as if she was the visitor. Some of my best memories are from that time. Seeing her play with my children, and getting to know her on an adult level. We turned her quiet house into a toddler filled zoo and she never complained. Eventually, we moved on but I’ll always cherish spending that time with her.

Especially since she doesn’t know me anymore.