G-Mother's Piano

When my g-mother died back in 2007, she left several precious things to me:  the two chairs given to her by Margaret Meisse, my childhood piano teacher, and the two rings that she wore as frequently as she wore her wedding ring (both jade, and one with diamonds).  In fact, I can still see her mildly arthritic hands with one of those two rings on them.  There were some sore feelings about me getting the rings, seeing as I'm not one of her children and I'm not even blood-related to her.  As my Aunt Michelle put it, I got left more specific things than anyone else, and the things I was left were pretty significant.

However, there was only one item that I actually wanted: her Kawai upright piano.  The original piano that I had played in my g-parents' house was a short brown console that had belonged to G-mother's parents, but G-Mother gave it to Michelle...who discarded it a few years later, saying that it was broken beyond repair (it had worked perfectly fine all the years I had played it).  My G-Mother replaced that piano with the Kawai when I was probably twelve, and I spent my teenage years playing that piano.

My time on the piano in Tallahassee is a core memory for me.  Frequently, my G-Mother would be cooking in the kitchen, listening to every note that I played, and would yell "you make a mistake" when I, in fact, made a mistake.  At eight years old, I was practicing three hours a day.  But at night, it all became worth it when the g-parents invited dinner guests into the small music room and commanded me to play for hours at a time.  I played my own classical pieces, but I also played music that could be sung to by the guests.  Boy, that was a throw-back to an earlier time, wasn't it? I see actors in movies standing around a piano, singing show tunes at parties, and my G-Mother was basically reenacting that scene.  There was a small, carpeted step from the music room up to a landing in front of the front door, and my grandad would sit on that step with a big boom box and hit record anytime I played something new.  My g-mother would then listen to the tape the next day while doing anything in the kitchen, talking to herself about the program or laughing at some funny joke or comment that was recorded as well.  Boy, I sure wish I had one of those tapes now!

But the best part (and I know I've written about this before) was playing four-hand piano duets with my g-mother on that piano.  She was a mediocre pianist at best, but she loved to sit down and play with me.  And inevitably, I would continue to play at tempo while she began to fall behind, or I would purposely speed up so that she couldn't keep up, and we would both end up laughing until tears rolled down our faces.  I can still hear her through the laughter, "Oh Reesy!"

So when my g-mother died, I just wanted the piano.

I flew to Florida for the funeral, and it was an overwhelming situation for me.  Because of the abuse I had suffered at the hands of Chuck (who was at the funeral), and because of the feeling of unbelonging after the divorce of my mother and Chuck, and knowing I wasn't related to the grandparents by blood, and because of the immense sense of loss with the death of both grandparents, I wasn't exactly myself.  I was very withdrawn and overwhelmed with grief.  I didn't really know how to act or who I could trust, and looking back on it now, I give myself grace because I even showed up.  In the end, my Aunt Michelle felt like she needed to tell me that I was "prickly"...just what I needed to hear from the woman who had been the idol of my childhood.

And while I'm at it, I might as well describe my relationship with Michelle who is 15 years older than I am.  When I came into the family at age six, Michelle was 21 and headed into the first of her three marriages.  She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and she was loved by all.  A sorority sister, she wore all the right clothes and had the perfect hair and was funny to boot.  But as I aged, and as she aged and went into her second marriage, we became distant.  I know now that she didn't particularly like me, or perhaps there was some jealousy there because the grandparents loved me so much.  I don't know.  But we ended up having children at the same time, and at times I felt like a second-choice by the grandparents when Michelle was around.  

Back to the story.  As often happens with death and dividing assets, emotions came into play, and I was told that I wasn't getting the piano.  Just as with the first piano, Michelle said that her children were going to learn how to play on it.  (I mean, let's be honest--they could learn on any piano, but maybe she thought there was some magic sauce in that Kawai.  Yeah, the magic sauce? Three hours of practicing a day!)  So John drove down with a rental truck, picked up the things that were left to me (and several other things that they were just giving away) and drove everything home.  My children know how much I love the Margaret Meisse chairs, but none of it meant as much to me as that darn piano.

Fast forward 15 years.  I get a FB message from Michelle, telling me that they are downsizing and that if I want G-Mother's piano, I can come and get it.  I leapt at the chance and set up a date to drive down to North Carolina.

I have made a lot of changes in my ways of thinking of and responding to people over the last five years, but the prospect of seeing Michelle after so much time forebode going back to my old ways.  There was so much bitterness for Michelle from what she called me to refusing to give me the piano in the first place, and to be honest, I wanted to be really mad at her for not giving it to me initially.  But after speaking to my therapist about it all, I challenged myself to be my new, free-from-trauma self with Michelle.  As my therapist said, did I want to leave an impression that fulfilled what Michelle had called me? And did I want her to think I wasn't grateful?

No.  The piano, given however late, is a gift.  A gift that I know my G-Mother would want me to have.  And how thankful I am that Michelle thought of me.  And yes, I want Michelle to see what my friends and family see--that I'm a good and kind and generous person.

Renting a moving van or getting someone else to move it was going to cost $1,000, so I looked into renting a pick-up truck.  $277 later, I was on my way to North Carolina.

Thankfully Meg was willing to drive the two hours to come and see me because the condo was in the mountains along the border with Virginia and Tennessee.  We had a lovely evening, eating dinner and walking her dog, Banksy.

The next morning, I was nervous as I drove to the cafe where we were meeting for breakfast before getting the piano.  But as soon as I saw Michelle, and I heard, "Reesy!", my heart melted.  I could see the grandparents in her eyes, and it was almost like they were back with me.  I don't know if those who have died can see us or communicate with us through the veil, but if they can, I know my g-mother orchestrated that entire experience.  We caught up quickly over eggs (with her telling her husband that I was the daughter my grandparents always wanted) and then she hopped in my truck while her husband, Alan, drove the other truck back to the condo.

No sooner had we started off than Michelle went where I thought she might go.  She told me that she wanted to apologize for her f***ing brother, and she told me how angry she was at him for what he did to me and to her.  I looked at her and could only tell her how sorry I was that she too was a victim of sexual abuse.  She told me that it had only been when she was very young for a very short time, and in fact, she hadn't remembered it had happened until I had exposed Chuck in my teens, but it still was a part of her history.  She then began talking to me about forgiveness and asked me how we do it, and I just shared that forgiveness isn't for the person who hurts us, but instead is for us.  Until we forgive, our lives our inextricably linked to the abuser, so letting go is the healthiest thing we can do for ourselves.

Anyway, they had hired six guys to come and move the piano into the pickup, but none of them seemed to think it could remain standing (John could've worked it out), so we laid it on its back.  I had brought a tarp and ratchet straps so we basically tucked the piano into bed and thankfully there was no rain showing for any location on the ten-hour drive home.

After it all, Michelle couldn't help commenting on how great it was to see me, and in fact has reached out a couple of times since over text, telling me that we must stay in touch.  She told me how beautiful I am and what a beautiful life I'm living....and my old self wants to say, "Hell yeah, you sucker," but we're all on our own life's journey and I just appreciate that she sees the real me now.  She even commented on how the edelweiss flower on my jacket matched my scarf which means a lot coming from the artist and interior designer she is.  As I was about to drive away, I rolled down the window and thanked Michelle again for thinking of me to which she responded, "It should've been yours all along, Reesy."  Yep, it should have, but it's okay.  It eventually came home.

I got the piano home without incident, John and I barely got it in the house itself, and it was only then that I allowed myself a moment with my past.  I opened the piano, and as with all musical instruments that we musicians have played at some point, it felt like home.  I even remembered the screws that constantly are loose on the music stand.  But more than that, it was like having a piece of my family with me.  So many memories of the only real family members I had are all wrapped up in the 60 inches of that black lacquer Kawai.  And accompanying that piano are two paintings done of my grandparents that hung in their home which Michelle decided to give me at the last minute.

I need to write her a thank you note for the gift.  I don't know that I'll be able to adequately express what it all meant to me, including the feeling of possibly having a feeling of belonging again, but I need to try because if I learned nothing else from my G-Mother, I learned that you always send a thank you note for what you are given.