Saturday, April 23, 2011

Saying Good-Bye to my Dad, Part 5

The girl didn't know what to do about the silence and the many questions in this time of waiting, so she herself kept silent and listened carefully. She heard many things while she was listening - the birds outside her window, the laughter of her children, the impatient sounds of traffic, the wind rustling through the trees, and the sound of typing on a keyboard.

Because it was Easter weekend the girl also heard a lot of music - voices singing, guitars, piano, flutes, violins, the marimba and even a lute. And she remembered that she, too, could make music and that she inherited this gift from her father. So she stopped listening and began to sing.

She sang softly and mournfully, and then, as her spirit began to lift, her voice grew stronger and more confident and she sang a song of praise which echoed against the city buildings and into the African bushveld and all the way to the very ears of God.
"I have no idea what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is I don't want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I like to think they were singing about something so beautiful it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away. And for the briefest of moments, every last man at Shawshank felt free." - from The Shawshank Redemption
And the girl knew the answers to all the questions that had been floating over her head these many days.

1 comment:

steveT said...

my soul aches for this girl. there are no easy answers, words or explanations here are there? the number of "what ifs" that crop up in this story make my gut wrench and my heart break. none of those feel very good.

i am reminded of a beautiful song by dan fogelberg from the 70s: "Leader of the Band".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsocZrEcp0Y

An only child alone and wild
A cabinet maker's son
His hands were meant for different work
And his heart was known to none
He left his home and went his lone
And solitary way
And he gave to me
A gift I know I never can repay

A quiet man of music
Denied a simpler fate
He tried to be a soldier once
But his music wouldn't wait
He earned his love through discipline
A thundering, velvet hand
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band

My brothers' lives were different
For they heard another call
One went to Chicago
And the other to St. Paul
And I'm in Colorado
When I'm not in some hotel
Living out this life I've chose
And come to know so well

I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, papa, I don't think
I said, "I love you" near enough

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band
I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band

but this girl who now calls Africa home has never gotten to hear her father play his music except in the quietness of her heart when she sleeps. i pray Someone will let her hear his haunting notes even now as i write these words a half day behind her. i'm certain He can do this if would choose.

~steveT