The Power of Loss.

My father died last month. I use the term “die” instead of the polite term “pass away” because he always hated that term. “Pass away to where?” he would say.

If I were to answer his question today, I would tell him that even though his physical existence on earth ceased, he is still very much alive. I always find him in the strangest of places.
Last night, my husband and I went to a Vespers concert at the church (marimba and piano). The featured music included Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Bach, among other selections.

I continue to be amazed at the caliber of talent offered at the local level. The couple who performed last night had been working together professionally for over a decade and  had immersed themselves in the local musical culture, as well as in areas up north. They are both entertainers and educators with resumes boasting some of the finest universities in the country. They had established their careers up north; however, they chose to spend their later years in Florida in order to take advantage of its mild winters.

Although native Floridians still exist, many of us move here from other parts of the country. Others visit seasonally — we call those residents “snow birds.” Up until the past year, my parents would pack their car and head down to Florida in order to escape the frigid New York winters.

If my father were still alive, my parents would be here, and I wondered  if we would have invited them to join us.  We might not have thought to invite them, only to express our regret later.  My father would have loved it, especially the Bach’s Concerto in A Minor.  I imagined him sharing my fascination as the woman played the marimba with two mallets in each hand, effortlessly balancing precision and speed. I saw him in my mind as he looked at the pianist’s face, engrossed in the moment. I almost cried, because I knew the extent to which he loved music and how much he would have enjoyed the small, yet appreciative setting.

I began to fill up. All of a sudden, an episode of M*A*S*H popped into my head. In this episode, Radar has the hots for a woman who has sophisticated taste in music. He doesn’t know anything about Baroque, so his buddies advise him to exclaim “Ah! Bach!” whenever he is at a loss for words with her. I remembered how the term was used all too frequently, and  I almost giggled at the thought.

My father saved me in my own grief.


He had the same crazy sense of humor too.