The music started the day I met her. She was everything I had ever needed: Bright, beautiful, young, talented, genius, and overwhelmingly kind. Somedays, I just could not keep my eyes off of her. The tune I heard in my mind’s ears began; its great orchestration and compositional prowess displayed through the subtlety of genre-shifting. On occasions, it was upbeat and loud, with a cello that played boldly, only outmatched by her adventurous smile. On other days, it would be slow and melodic, playing an ever steady and unswaying refrain. When her brother died, it only grew more somber. And as I comforted her under the pouring rain that day, an accompaniment joined to lighten the heavy piece.
She shined like a blazing fire of passion after I got on one knee, and I could almost feel the hint of her answer from the music. The melody peaked at our wedding, like a grand finale to an amazing and emotional musical number. The sound of violins lightly trilling with vibrato as the deep basses held the listener’s attention — it was all dwarfed by her beauty. That day, I knew I had found not only the love of my life, but also my favorite song.
The week before our baby was due, I felt an awaiting climax in the symphony. It laid thick pressure down over the atmosphere, and neither of us could keep ourselves from fraying our nerves.
I was at work the following morning when it happened. A phone call I had been dreading. That worrisome ring incorporated itself into the now fast-paced polyphony. I rushed out the door and into my car. By the time I reached the hospital, I could feel the apotheosis nearing closer and closer. The seconds ticked, but the staff forced me to wait.
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Four feet away, a quavering note held…
Three feet, it sang…
Two feet, it screamed…
One foot from the room’s doors, and it shrieked.
The violins’ shrill screeches felt as if they were going to burst my eardrums. But, finally, the note softened, and something beautiful happened.
A lone trumpet tooted, new and full of joy. It scoffed and coughed, then breathed. Its graceful sound dignified my ears. My smile could not be wider as I opened the door to see my wonderful son and my beautiful wife on the hospital bed, awaiting my arrival.
But what I had not noticed was, with the commencement of the boy’s fresh cries, my wife’s elegant euphony had come to a quiet end.
The music that once played constantly — my favorite song — had stopped. And so had my wife’s heart.
“You're the music that’s been playing inside my head since the day we first met. And today… that music stopped.”