The piano sits there in front of me, ready for use. I'm not entirely sure that I'm ready to play it though, unlike usual. I'm too emotional about what just happened to play for a little while.

Earlier today, I decided to hike the quarter-mile to my neighbor's residence, as they have the only piano near enough for me to practice regularly. The house is empty because the normally riotous children are on a camping trip, giving me peace and quiet.

Today, I'd forgotten to leave a note or message saying where I was, or how long I'd be out, so Daddy (my biological father, whom I'm staying with for the next 3 weeks) showed up maybe 45 minutes later to check on me and to make sure I wasn't trashing the place (which I'd never do, and he knows that).

As soon as I went back inside, I went back to piano-playing.

When I'd finished a little improvisation, Daddy came back in, in tears.

"Jerilynn, I haven't heard you play i-in y-years... that was so g-gorgeous, t-thank you."

We embraced. I'd forgotten how long it'd been since he'd been able to hear me play. At least several years, at the earliest. He was smiling and crying at the same time, and I'd never received such a genuine statement about my music before.

When he'd calmed down a bit, he asked me "Where do you keep those recordings of your music? I'd like to hear more later." He smiled gently, the Daddy I knew had returned.

As soon as he left, I played my feelings to the piano. I didn't record them, for those tears were our private tears of familial loss and gain. My father hadn't heard me play properly and regularly on a piano since I was about 7 or 8 years old.