Now that it's over

 

Now that it’s over, I have her ring.  A remembrance of 

slender, tapered fingers; of almond-shaped nails that 

never met a cuticle;  of fingers that flew over the keys 

with confidence and joy, eliciting melody from her

heart.

My mother was in love with melody.  She heard melody 

in everything --  in the hum of the outboard motor 

engine and the gurgle of a baby’s laugh.  

She was a romantic, and melody was her vehicle to 

explore her romance.  

“Listen to that cello line!” she would exclaim.  “Hear 

how it supports the vocal line.  Hear its melody!”

 

And I would listen.  I would listen to her play Puccini, 

Brahms, Scriabin.  I would see her graceful fingers 

move over the keys and I would feel her joy at the sound, 

at the melody.

 

It wasn’t until she died that part of those beautiful 

hands became mine.  She asked if I would like her 

ring when she died.  I so wanted it.  I so wanted a 

remembrance of her grace and charm and talent.  

So when she died, I slipped that ring off – the ring 

that had never left her hand from the

moment it was placed there 66 years ago – 

and put it onto my finger.

 

Now that I have that part of her, will I hear her melodies?