The Day The Music Stopped

“Death is not the end of things, my sister. It is the beginning of a greater adventure than this small life you cherish can hold."  ~ Douglas Clegg, Isis

My Uncle Jody could do pretty much anything.  Branding calves.  Baiting fish hooks. Hauling hay.  Working on oil wells.  He grew up in an old dug out, served in the army during WWII, and had a sweet tooth that I can only assume is genetic because he passed it right on down to me.  He played dominoes, danced a mean two-step, and could tell stories better than almost anyone I know.  He loved the same woman for over 60 years and celebrated the 100th year of our family's homestead.  Like I said, he could do pretty much anything.

But there  was nothing he did better than playing the piano.

When he would settle in on that bench and his fingers touched the keys, everyone flocked to him.  People would literally run in from outside on the ranch or from the pool behind the house upon hearing the call, "Uncle Jody is going to play!"

The whole family--four generations--would gather around the piano.   Sitting four deep on couches, piled into chairs, and lined along the floor.  And this wasn't a one time thing.  It happened at every single family event.  At Uncle Jody's house, where the night ended with the enitre family singing Amazing Grace, and not a dry eye in the house.  At a hotel in Roswell where Little Cowboy shared the bench.  In my cousin Elaine's home last summer for the better part of an hour.

Then, today, the music stopped.  At least here on earth.  We lost Uncle Jody.  He was 87.

But I'll bet you anything that somewhere in Heaven you can find our family crowded around a piano, where Uncle Jody and his music live on.

For that, and for him, I could not be more grateful.