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My father passed away last year. My sister and brother are sorting through his estate. My sister and sent me a text that I didn’t expect. She asked me if I wanted my mother’s piano. I spent most of my childhood playing cello while my mother accompanied me on that piano. I was pleased that my siblings wanted me to have it. They felt it belonged with me.

Today the piano movers came.


Now my mother’s piano is safe in her new home.


A million happy memories and gratitude are making my heart sing today.
 

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Wow, I’m so happy for you. To have a piano so full of good memories is very special and that your siblings knew it belonged with you is heartwarming.
 

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Lovely that your family knows exactly where your mother would want her piano to be. I hope it continues to recall happy memories, and to make more, bringing happiness to all who play and hear it.
 

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My heart is singing with yours, how wonderful!
 

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I forgot to mention I love how you decorated. It looks like you planned this wonderful piano as a focal point in the room.
 

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What a thoughtful thing for your siblings to do! And what a wonderful place you have put it in!

I can almost picture you sitting on the bench with your hand gently touching a single key, remembering your mother's hands on those very same keys, with a smile on your face! Music and memories go hand-in-hand................Sweet!


Is that picture on top of the piano, of your Mom sitting at the piano ?
 

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How wonderful- it looks great in your house! Sounds like there are many memories associated with it. I’m a piano player too.
 

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Discussion Starter #14
The picture is of my dad sitting at the piano and singing. I'll get a picture of my mom and put it up there, too. The runner on top of the piano is fabric my mother wove on her loom. The piano was the soul of our home. It really means a lot to have this piano with me. When I was very small, my mom played piano, and I played cello. I was so tiny we could fit together on the piano bench back to back.

I would be upstairs in my bedroom reading, or playing with my toys, when up through the floor I would hear the piano. Mom playing Bach. Mom playing Beethoven. Suddenly, I'd hear the accompaniment part for whatever sonata or concerto I was working on. Instantly, I was on my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Wait! Wait! Wait for me! You can't play that without me!" Thunder down the stairs, race around the corner, snatch my cello from the floor. "Wait for me."

My mom, frowned at me. "But, I was just practicing this."
"Too bad, Mom. You can't practice that without me."
She would think it over and sigh. "Oh, all right."
And then we would play together.

This happened every day, for years and years when I was little. Before my mom died, she told me she would sit down at the piano, look up toward my bedroom, laugh maniacally, then start the music and wait for me to start yelling. The whole time I was banging around upstairs, she was at the piano laughing. Mom always managed to keep a straight face when I got in the room, though. It never dawned on me that she was deliberately calling me to play music with her. But she was, every single day. All that love, all that laugher, all of that joy is in that piano still. I can feel it in every note I play.
 
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