And so we sit,

Two people,

In two chairs

Momentarily silenced by the sun as it settles

around us,

Its syrupy glow pooling on the black and

white horizon that has unfolded before us

When, with the stroke of his left hand,

That of a man who was born with the instinct

to use his right,

Ignites the still image before us with life

In no time he is dancing,

His steps across the keys

Melt black and white together

The line between expected

And unexpected

Gone

The stroke of his wrist

Each note,

more sure than the last

His voice leads my own fingers now

Two hands in suite

I am swept up by the melody -

To a place where the idea of fragility,

His illuminated decades ago,

Becomes blurred

And the perceived impossible

Is nothing but,

Possible

His instinct to teach is

Undeniable -

The stroke of his pen across paper

First scribbles,

Notes one day be cemented in

hardcover

The softening of notes quell the melody,

And the air around us begins to settle

He casts me a side-long grin

The right edge of his mouth pulling towards

the sky

This moment,

These moments,

Between him and I,

Resultant of the stroke that would change his

life

I wrote this piece about a year ago after Sandy, a man I had been a caregiver for in his home, passed away. At this time the COVID-19 pandemic was in full swing and very little could be done in lieu of physically gathering. So, I turned to paper to recount the quiet moments we shared before dinner by the piano. While Sandy had suffered a stroke almost 25 years prior to our meeting, he had retained much of his ability to walk, travel the world, and of course play the piano for the entirety of his life. Thus, our time spent together was filled with stories, laughter, and music; moments that transformed my previous notions of what life after a life-changing medical event could, and should, look like.