Any decision in life has consequences, positive or negative. Children will typically see a consequence as some type of punishment. However through life, we learn that consequences are simply a reaction to an external action. Hence, a positive result has equal opportunity for its outcome.

Everyone has an individual gift to offer. One that is unique to them. Athleticism, intellectual, emotional, or support of any kind. There are some who can play a musical instrument. There are even some people in this world able to play multiple musical instruments which is rather incredible. But any gift one has to offer is worthless unless the gift is shared, given away. Akin to telling a friend or loved one, ‘I have a most wonderful gift for you!, but I’m not going to give it to you.’

The ability to play the piano is a gift to me.

We didn’t yet know anything definitive about Irene’s diagnosis, but we knew things with her condition were not improving. Her ability to talk with fluidity was diminishing and when she did speak I could tell that she was worried. She was scared, and to think of that now I hurt for her. I wanted to make things better. I wanted to make everything better. After some days passed, it didn’t seem that she worried for herself anymore, but she was still worried. As I look back I believe her heart and soul knew she did not have much longer to live on this earth. She was worried for me.

I myself remained what Irene once termed ‘critically optimistic’. I innocently always hoped for the best.

Our Neurologist was a walking angel. He had a heart. He cared. He was open and honest and told us at one point “What we hope it’s not is Prion Disease”. He must have had a strong suspicion that it was. He knew the signs and must have ‘felt’ it.

One of the days, as Irene and I spoke with one another, me hugging her and with assurance that we would get to the bottom of this, and that everything would be ‘ok’, we hugged. In our held grip Irene said “I just want to hear you play the piano again.”

Those words and her voice.., I can hear her speak them as I write. I promised her that she would hear me play the piano again. After diagnosis of CJD, I had 12 days with her at home for me to do just that for her.

Words cannot express the gratitude I have in keeping my promise to her. Once home, she was able to turn her head in my direction as I played, and would manage a slight smile on her face. Whatever gift that might have been for Irene was an even greater gift to me. To know that she got her wish, that I was provided the time, her time, to give her something that meant so much to her from the one she loved most.

Irene bought The Steinway for me and I will forever play my piano, for her.