Always yours, Robert.”
“Even though I’m gone, I’m still here.”
I folded the letter carefully and put it in my pocket.
Then I looked around the studio one more time.
I vowed to come back. Because Robert had given me more than a secret. He’d given me back the dream.
I visit the studio twice a week now. Sometimes I play. Sometimes I just listen to his recordings.
My daughter came with me once. I played one of Robert’s recordings for her.
Robert had given me more than a secret.
My fingers stumbled in a few places. The tempo wasn’t quite right. But it was full of love.
She cried when she heard it.
Last week, I recorded my first piece in 60 years. My hands aren’t as nimble as they used to be. I made mistakes. Had to start over several times. But I finished it.
I labeled the recording: “For Robert.” And I placed it on the shelf next to all of his.
Now we’re together again. In the only way that matters.
For 63 years, he gave me flowers. And from beyond, he gave me back the dream I’d forgotten I had.
We’re together again.
