Talking to the Dead

April 6, 2024

I held grudges against my father. We were as different as night and day and often clashed, even into my adulthood. Dad was a hard-working, shoulder-to-the-wheel, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of man. He was no-nonsense and very thrifty and expected much from my brother Trevor and me.

I recall that a kid in my class could play the piano very well in the fourth grade. Dennis was a child protégé in music whom I admired. I was secretly jealous of all the attention he got because of his extraordinary talent. I befriended Dennis and was asked to come to his house after school one day. In their living room was a shiny black baby grand piano. Dennis sat on the bench and played beautiful classical music.

I decided to learn to play the piano like Dennis; the piano lessons went well. My teacher said I was promising. In my zeal to be a concert pianist, I rode my bike every afternoon to our church, about two miles away, to practice on the piano there. Then, I wanted a piano of my own. I begged and begged for it. My father finally said that if I continued practicing at the church every day for a year, he would consider getting a piano.

I did, and Dad bought a brand-new piano. It was not a baby grand, but it was beautiful. I played and practiced it for several years. I have to admit, however, that I lost interest in piano not long after Dad bought ours. Maybe I thought I would be more like Dennis if I had a piano. Perhaps I thought having the piano would magically teach me how to play like Dennis. But in Junior High, I learned other ways to bolster my self-esteem besides emulating Dennis. And when my self-esteem was higher than it was in the fourth grade, I no longer needed to be like someone else. I could be loved for being me, without a piano.

I rarely played my new beautiful piano. Out of a mixture of guilt and loyalty, I took lessons until mid-high school without my heart in it. Then, I confessed to my parents that I didn’t want to take lessons anymore. It was apparent that I would never become a talented musician.

Now, in my soul, I see so much I could not see in my fledgling ego. Sitting here in my family room and reflecting, I am looking at that very piano. It is still cherished, though I rarely sit to play it. But looking at that piano triggered a conversation between me and Dad today. I thanked him. I don’t think I have ever thanked him for that piano. But as I talked with him, I heard Dad’s voice in my heart. He said he wanted to provide everything he could because he loved me. He accepted my regret for having been so demanding and self-centered. He understood. He was speaking from his soul, and I from mine.

Inquiry: Who might you want to talk with who no longer lives in this dimension?

Dear God,

For that Holy conversation, I am so grateful.

Amen.

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