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I feel heavy, like something inside me is made of lead. Like I can't sit up or stand, all I can do is lie down. And my hands are thick and slow, they don't move like they should. And my feet and legs are slow and heavy.
I was down in Anderson today. I didn't get an email about wind ensemble being cancelled, despite what's happened, so I went down there. It was like a ghost town, and I just kept thinking, there should be people all through this hallway, there should be instruments being warmed up, my conductor should be milling around and calling the names of the pieces to be played today. But there wasn't, everything was too still, nothing happening. Some people dressed in black were talking quietly in the little listening room off the hallway.
I went to the bathroom, thinking how disconcerting it was for this building to be so quite, and then I saw a sign for Brett's senior recital. It was going to be on May 2nd at 1:00 at Shineman Chapel. And I wondered if they would have a memorial service for him then, instead, or if they would just let the time pass quietly, almost unnoticed. Like the silence of the music circle this afternoon. We were supposed to play the Stravinski and the Rameau, and he was in them both, but rehearsal was cancelled and the music circle doors were left shut.
I don't articulate things well when I speak. I tend to avoid speaking about things like this unless I have to. I prefer to write about it, because then, if I make a mistake, say something wrong, I can delete it before anyone else can see it. I'm sad, and I'm worried and confused, but so glad for everyone who is here for me. I don't know what I would do without you all, those who are with me now, and those who are far away. It's times like this when I want to make sure that you all know that I love you so much, and it even looks stupid to me right now but I need to say it. You're all the most important things in the world.
I was down in Anderson today. I didn't get an email about wind ensemble being cancelled, despite what's happened, so I went down there. It was like a ghost town, and I just kept thinking, there should be people all through this hallway, there should be instruments being warmed up, my conductor should be milling around and calling the names of the pieces to be played today. But there wasn't, everything was too still, nothing happening. Some people dressed in black were talking quietly in the little listening room off the hallway.
I went to the bathroom, thinking how disconcerting it was for this building to be so quite, and then I saw a sign for Brett's senior recital. It was going to be on May 2nd at 1:00 at Shineman Chapel. And I wondered if they would have a memorial service for him then, instead, or if they would just let the time pass quietly, almost unnoticed. Like the silence of the music circle this afternoon. We were supposed to play the Stravinski and the Rameau, and he was in them both, but rehearsal was cancelled and the music circle doors were left shut.
I don't articulate things well when I speak. I tend to avoid speaking about things like this unless I have to. I prefer to write about it, because then, if I make a mistake, say something wrong, I can delete it before anyone else can see it. I'm sad, and I'm worried and confused, but so glad for everyone who is here for me. I don't know what I would do without you all, those who are with me now, and those who are far away. It's times like this when I want to make sure that you all know that I love you so much, and it even looks stupid to me right now but I need to say it. You're all the most important things in the world.
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