Dance to the music of life, hard as it is

Words – that’s my weapon I use every week, wondering if they will tickle you; touch you.

But I learnt a new powerful word this week: music.

And my friend taught me that through her tears at her husband’s funeral. I know her, not him. I know how she likes her coffee, what makes her laugh, revel in her love for her children, especially the one that lives far, far away and made her the very proud grandmother of a baby she hasn’t even met yet nearly a year later.

And, of course, I know about her Danie, but only the down side.

How he battled; first the mobility, then the mind, then the “giving up”.

But I didn’t know her Danie – until the bells tolled. Now I know. For 27 years he enveloped her in music. And not any
kind of music – organ music. Not my favourite organ to play but I get it, as speaker after speaker sings his praises.

His legacy is music. How else? He made it for over 62 years, first on church organs but lately only the little one at home. So the little church rocked for two hours to We have this Hope, The Lord’s Prayer, even Oh Danny Boy and closed off with the majestic crescendo of the Hallelujah chorus.

And it dawned on me: words sometimes just aren’t enough. We all need music, lots of its. Music is what builds memories; what will keep his family singing until end of days.

I’m thinking of the words I used when I tried to comfort her with a bunch of sunflowers earlier: “Let them dry upside down, harvest the seeds and plant a field for Danie.”

All I had to write was: I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day; when it’s cold outside. My girl would’ve understood, I know now.

Music is what makes us lose ourselves; forget life; dance to life, hard as it is.

But then allow me to use the words of the Bee Gees – and I unashamedly date myself – It’s only words. And words are all I have.

I’m right in giving hubby’s ancient numbered Remington typewriter to another girl who loves words as much as I do…