Music

Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of watching Justin's piano recital. All the kids who performed were great. And, I'm certain all the parents who watched were greatly anxious! As I watched the fast fingers on the grand piano and the parents' eyes fixated and intent, a dark image came to my mind.

I saw a sick man in his dying bed, next to a grand piano. The man had a life-long passion with music and the piano, and specifically, with his son performing the piano. On the one side of the bed is an oscilloscope beeping faintly as the green lifeline spikes to a dignified largo. The son sits by the grand piano and plays his magic, tears in his eyes and sweat down temple. He must play, for this is his father's final wish. He must play. He must play well.

The movement of the notes flashes a life's memories through the man's mind. Each up and each down brings a quicker and shorter breath. Each panting brings more tears to the son's eyes. He must play. He must play well.

As the music climaxes, the man's breathing crescendos to a muted forte in prestissimo. On the last note, the green lifeline rests.

The audience applauds and I'm back in the hot recital room.

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Spaceship Bed

All
Welcome
To spaceship bed

Destined tonight
To colour
Red

Time comes to us
Takes us
When

Space
Passes through
With all the fuss

Nothing ahead
Makes any
Sense

Dreams
Gladly served
On spaceship bed


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Mystery

The nurse motioned the young woman to one of the empty cribs, in the large and dimly lit hospital room. The young woman, arms cradling her baby, walked slowly to the crib, still feeling the pain from labour. As she walked through the room, holding her baby tightly against her frail body, her physical pain was not on her mind. She could only think of what she was about to do and wished she didn't have to do it.

In front of the crib, the young woman leaned over the edge and carefully laid her new-born daughter, wrapped in a red blanket, onto the mattress inside the crib. Eyes filled with the silent tears of a heart-broken mother, she took a long look at her baby. She hoped the moment would never end. She wanted to pick the child back up and run as far as she could away from the hospital and away from the city, but she knew very well that would ruin both her and her daughter's lives, rather than saving both. An unmarried mother of a daughter who looks neither Chinese nor Vietnamese would not fair too well in a war-torn Vietnam. Both would be chastised.

The young woman turned and began to walk back to the direction of the nurse to finish off the paper work. As she did she was almost certain she heard her baby cry out for her. Little did she know, that baby would cry out for her her entire life.

I can only imagine that was what transpired when my wife was given up for adoption. The mystery of her biological roots has plagued her entire existence. Being given up by one's own mother, I imagine is very, very difficult. I find myself consoling my wife on many occasions when self-doubt, then anger at her selfish mother creeps into her system.

My wife's mystery is a fact of her life that has become a fact of my and son's lives.

If only there was a GoogleGenetics - that would redefine the phrase, "let me google myself"...

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