the classics

I find classical music emotional. I know that in today's age, where we consider "music" to be whatever is playing on the local pop radio station, it is controversial for a "young adult" (yes, I still refer to myself as one) to say they actually listen to it. I think classical music is like a beautiful piece of art. How can you go by it, ignore it, not be challenged, moved, or driven to experience emotion by it? I have found myself time and time again, closing my eyes, absorbing the beauty that is displayed in my ears.

The famous classical artists are easy to talk about. Most of us are aware of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, or Fur Elise (one of those songs a gazillion piano players learn to play so they can seem like really hot shot piano players to all of their friends in high school. I know. I was one of them.). There are, however, pieces that might be equally famous, it's just that no one knows what they're called or who wrote them. An example of this, would be Adagio for Strings Op 11 by Samuel Barber. I am listening to it right now. And it incites and develops emotions in me...there are no words. Even now as I sit here and the music flows through my ears and deep in to my spirit... I am whisked away... My mind is drawn to a beautiful field, filled with daisies and a gentle breeze blowing over the top of them. The sun is bathing me in warmth, while I lay on my husband's chest amidst the flowers,listening to the sound of my children run and play, trying to catch grasshoppers. I can almost hear their giggling now. This is my heart's picture of heaven on earth. Just as easily as this beautiful piece of music can take me to such a beautiful place, it can also guide me away to a dark and depraved place. It can carry me back oh so many years to my beautiful triplets bedsides...It can send me back to the night they told me my youngest was not digesting food any more and her body was breaking down and she wasn't doing well. It can cause me to recall the panic I felt as the nurse, doctor, and social worker all came in to the room to "talk to" me. It can bring back the complete punch in the face that I felt as they told me that her large intestine was showing up as dark gray on the X rays (the beginning of bowel death, which leads to infant death), that she was no longer digesting food, and her O2 stats (which had always been immaculate) were dropping. It can reignite the panic I felt as I sat there holding her tiny hand and begged her to fight this, and begged God to not take her away from me, and begged God to make this moment go away... This is what classical music can do.

I have often wished that I would have been granted such a beautiful purpose. I wish that my heart could sore on to the pages of musical score and define and describe, through music, my emotions. I am finding myself less and less capable to put words to feelings. Maybe it's because as I get older, I find the silence more meaningful. Maybe it's because there is a comfort in just knowing, rather than hearing.

I wish I could write music so that I could describe for you what it felt like to run in to my husband's arms on the day he came home. There are not words. There are no synonyms for me to write on this page that could adequately describe the elation. They all marched in, they were released, and I was standing there looking around and I couldn't find him. There was a panic in my heart...where is he? Where is he? And then...just like a perfect pause, or the drums pounding away...the people parted, and there he was. There he was standing in front of me, maybe twenty feet away, and I just ran. I didn't think I would run at all...but there I was. Dead sprint. Running at him with all I had in me. All of a sudden, my flesh felt his flesh, and my arms wrapped around him, and his wrapped around me. My face was pressed against his, and my body was up against his...there were no more internet connections to deal with, or telephones connecting us. It was just a girl with her boy. Two hearts as one flesh. We stood there hugging for a while...he was saying things in my ear, which I will treasure in my heart always. But they're just for me. Sorry...no divulging of that information. I just remember starting to cry. It took me a couple of minutes...but then it just hit me...this is over. This is over. And I wept. I wept in the arms of my soldier, in the arms of my deep, deep love.

This is what I wish I could write music to convey. Those words...they can't convey them the way I wish they could. I can't make you experience the joy, the elation...

So I just sit here...with my iTunes and my classical music. I let it whisk me away, and explain what I can not find words to explain. I pour out my soul, through my ears, and I smile. Because God created someone with that kind of beauty, that kind of capability. I am in awe. I am eternally grateful. This is my sonata.

The closest piece I have ever heard to describe my husband's coming home would be: Berceuse in D-Flat Major, Op. 57: Lullaby by Peter Schmalfuss. This is my heart's love. Go listen to it. It's amazing!