I went to my mom’s piano recital yesterday. It was very moving to see her courage, being the only one past age 10 or 15, and being, as far as I could tell, the only one with mental health impairment, though that is not always easily discernible.

A lot of emotions flew within my siblings and I as we watched mom first fumble, then fly through a set of chords, then cry a little, and then end with a flourish. We were all relieved to see the whirlwind end and moved to see the one hundred person audience give her a long set of applause with a few standing ovations to boot. This was an example of her wonderful and courageous piano teacher putting her in the recital, softly respectful and honoring when literally anything could have happened and some of it did.  She cried through a few kids’ songs, she didn’t even come close to playing her tune, “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas”, and she burst into tears mid-random performance. Some wonderful things also happened.  Mom’s melancholy tune, known only to her, was brilliantly composed, if somewhat scattered, since her right hand doesn’t work as well and the left compensates at about 80%. She was calm, content, confident, all of the things most of us only dream of exhibiting and feeling on stage in front of the world. Sometimes people, maybe those in the art world especially, are much gentler and more accepting than I remember. It was a wonderful time,  mom looked beautiful, played her heart out and then went out for pizza with us afterwards, for her 67th birthday. She is so smart, and yet so kind, and pleased by the legacy she has left of four kids and eight grandkids and a marriage still somehow going strong after over 40 years and schizophrenia and a stroke. She is a hero in her own right and I continue to learn from her example of love as I grow.