The piano lady with a big heart

Just recently I was talking to a friend who shared a common interest in playing the piano. When the subject came up, I wasn't exactly ready to hear what her next words were.

I asked her how my teacher was doing, since she has a history of being ill quite often, and what came next absolutely blew my mind. She told me that days after summer vacation started, she passed away.

Honestly, I was extremely devastated. I held back the tears, and I tried to convince myself that all this was just a rumor, and that everything was going to be alright, after all, sometimes rumors in Fallon could be misconstrued. So I did what every one else does: Look it up. And scrolling through the results, I found it to be true. My head felt extremely dizzy as the thoughts just whirled around my head. I felt guilty, because something in my heart told me to go back to her one last time before vacation started. I even wanted to go back to taking lessons, although the only thing holding me back was her present incline and decline of her health, and I didn't want her to stress herself out.

Besides, she was a strong person. She went through pretty much anything possible and still kept a smile on her face. And I'm going to miss seeing that smile every week.

I started playing piano around the 5th grade after being inspired to use the piano in the house that was steadily collecting a layer of dust after months of abandonment after my sister left for college. I got up and polished the beautiful dark wood, and I dusted each key until it was Ivory-white again.
Then we set out looking for different piano teachers, from downtown to even looking for ads in the newspaper, then out of the blue, we went back to the dance studio and found a number for a piano teacher for a reasonable price. With my breath held in, we dialed her number and immediately she answered, welcoming us with an open greeting.

Upon arriving for my first lesson, I walked up the wooden red railings and knocked on the white door.

When the door opened I saw an old lady with red hair, dressed up in her finest clothes, from glimmering rings to jeweled necklaces, in her small wheelchair. And immediately, I knew she was THE piano teacher for me.

Every practice, we had ranging discussions from school, achievements, politics, philosophy, music, home decorating, to even our personal lives. Her many stories of her childhood amused me, and there were even some moments where I'd wonder what happened to her husband? Does she ever feel alone? Did she ever have a first love? So many things that I wanted to know. To me, old people have many things to tell you, a lifetime of stories that must be heard.

There was one day though, that happened to stand out the most for me. When I entered and situated myself in front of the grand piano, I noticed a bouquet of brightly colored flowers on the tea table, along with a picture of a laughing man around 70 years old placed almost ceremoniously by the vase. I asked her who he was, and immediately her eyes sparkled and her lips turned to a bright smile. He was one of her great friends, who recently became a widower, and decided to visit her and recollect on their shared memories they had. She told me how extravagant their date was, how they were both lost in conversation, and immersed in each other. This compelled me to think that she loved him to an extent. Just seeing her morph into a schoolgirl just babbling about her crush made me realize that love never ceases because of age. And I just sat there, truly in awe of what I saw, because as much as I learned from her, this probably would be one of the most defining lessons she would have ever taught me.

In the end, she was one of the major figures in my life. She believed in me, and she believed in music. She put her heart and soul into teaching, and the emotion she put in all the pieces of music she played was fueled with vehemence.

I'm going to miss you Ms. Ricks. Thank you for everything.