Trumpet
I was in Florida for winter break
A break from the sharp winds and rough roads
A break from the overall vibe of a Michigan winter.
I was staying with my great grandma at her house
No, her home.
She had black and white pictures scattered around her home
Of distant memories with her children and grandchildren
The blurry, faded, oval portraits of family that came generations before her
hung in their own special place on the wall
And my great grandma knew everyone in those pictures
And she could tell you a story about every one of them
She told stories as much as she played the organ,
and just as well too.
The old wooden box that sat in her sun room was crowded
with old songbooks and sheet music
Most days I was there she would sit at the organ
and I would stand with my trumpet
and we would play far into the night
She said that she wanted me to play at her funeral
I joked that I would have a long time to practice
But we picked a song anyway
One of her favorites, a hymn from when she was my age
And I’m glad we picked it when we did
For the week after I got home, I would be on a plane going back again
But not in a T-shirt and shorts
In a suit, my dad helped me pick out
Not on a beach
But in a church
Commemorating the long- lived life of my great grandma
As I walked up to the front it felt too surreal
My silver trumpet glistening in the pale yellow lights that shone on the stage
The bottomless pit in my stomach grew deeper as I looked out at pews full of people
I started to read the speech I wrote
But as I looked out,
I realized that it wasn't the time for it
So I started playing
I put my heart and soul into that song and it was the best thing I've ever played
Even now I recall that last note
So full of life and energy
That one could have thought she was up there with me