When a loved one dies,
regardless of your faith, there are rituals that help those who live on, to say
goodbye. If you become sick with a chronic illness, or disorder, there's a
different path. You go to doctors - often a lot of doctors - and have tests.
Hopefully you get one or more diagnoses, and find out if there's any available
treatment.
Hopefully, there is progress, improvement. But often, you are never
fully better, fully recovered. There's no ritual for this, the slow - or
perhaps not so slow - realization that though you are still you, your life -
and in a way you - are changed.
I've gone through the
anger, and plenty of frustration about things not working, not going according
to plan. My life as a musician was full prior to my illness. I've felt very
sad, but I've never really said goodbye to that part of my life. It's always
been wistful - the question of what might still be possible hanging in the air.
And maybe someday something will change, but eight years in, I feel like I need
to say goodbye.
I've written about acceptance,
and I realized that acceptance can only happen when you - I - let myself
grieve, and say goodbye. That I can still play my flute a few minutes a day is
valuable, but it's so much less than what I once could do. So I took out a
plastic bin that has some of my sheet music, uncovered it, and let myself sob. Let
all the pain of loss pour out.
I took out the first
real solo piece I ever played - minuet and dance of the blessed spirits. It's a
beautiful piece, and I was so proud of being able to play it, back in high
school. I loved my flute teacher, and had many, many wonderful experiences with
her - Mrs. Levitin.
Then I opened a plastic
drawer, and thumbed through more music. When you begin playing at age nine, and
play until age 50, there's a lot of music, a lot of memories. The songbook for
"Oklahoma!" caught my eye, as did "My Fair Lady". I used to
buy songbooks, and play the vocal line - often easier to find than the sheet
music for flute.
There's so much more - music I played in band as a kid, music
I played with the flute choir (Lakeside Flutes) I helped to create, music I
played in informal gatherings with other musicians, even some from a community
band I played in.
Then I thought about
what I'm trying to move towards, and decided to take a picture of the piano we
have down in our basement, which I sit at, and play for a few minutes
sometimes. I never formally learned to play the piano, so I apply my sense of
sound, and just make music. Then I took a picture of part of the art table - a
box of pencils, my craypas, some paper.
It hurts to have to say
goodbye, but I want to be able to move on. I need to be able to let go, and I
believe this is my way, my ritual. Taking out my music, like pictures of a
loved one, and letting myself feel. This moves me towards acceptance of what
is, and whatever lies ahead.
