This weekend I had one of those moments when the grief sneaks up and smacks you like a wave.
It happened at the end of our orchestra concert. The opera singer was taking her first curtain call and we were all politely smiling and tapping our bows on the stand to applaud her as we violists always do. 🙂
Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, there was a flash of white moving through the orchestra. I looked up and saw a precious little girl holding a bouquet of flowers. She couldn’t have been much more than four years old. Her long, wavy auburn hair tumbled down her shoulders over her white dress. She walked very seriously and intently toward the singer to present the bouquet.
The instant I caught sight of her, I gasped. She looked so angelic that when I replay the scene in my mind, she glows.
Five seconds later the tears came streaming down my face. The conductor launched straight into the Star Wars encore while the soprano and little girl carefully exited the stage hand-in-hand.
It was hard to keep playing. I swatted at the tears like flies and hoped that my stifled sobs might look like hiccups to the audience. For the most part I didn’t want anyone to see me crying, but I’ll admit, there was a little part of me that wanted someone to ask me what’s wrong. (No one did.)
Just when I think I’ve made peace with my situation, something like this pops up.