My hands delicately touched the ivory keys. In reverent solace, I took a deep breath as I sat in the darkness of this unfamiliar house. Slowly, I began to let my fingers flow with the emotions I was feeling. It had been months since I had sat at a piano. But this piano was nothing like the one I had known before: this piano was a perfectly tuned Baby Grand, worth thousands of dollars. The piano I had know - my piano - was an old out of tune spinet that I had purchased at a yard sale for $50. And in that moment, as my fingers danced across the meticulously cared for ivory, I realized how deeply I missed my old out-of-tune friend. It was a feeling that came unexpectedly, this grief. It startled me. So, I quickly stuffed it down inside of myself and shook it off as nonsensical. But as warm tears began streaming down my cheeks while I played this Grand, I soon realized that this was an emotion I could no longer deny: I was grieving the loss of my piano. The loss of my piano had come a
I didn't know what to say. I had replayed the appropriate response in my mind multiple times but could never land on something substantial. Now, here I was in the moment I had been preparing for with absolutely nothing to say. I was really a stranger, after all, to this very private person. We had only met once before. So what could I say to them knowing that they had recently lost a child? Other strangers standing there with me said, "I am so sorry for your loss," and "I'm praying for you." Me? I stood there in awkward silence. I drove away that day replaying my idiotic behavior. I felt so foolish. Why hadn't I offered condolences? Why hadn't I said that I, too, was sorry for their loss? At the time, it all sounded so flat, so hollow. Now, I just felt like a fool, like one of Job's friends who just sat there and said nothing for an entire week. An entire week! Yep. I was now that fool. I had never suffered such devastating loss as the passin