Passing

It was there in the closet.

Where it had always been.

But now it seemed surreal.

He took the old case from the shelf where it had been stored for many years.

As he laid on the table, music flooded his mind. The music that had once been played on this old violin. It had been years since he’d heard it played. The last musician to play it was his grandfather Raymond J. Reynolds, the legendary violinist.

His mind wandered back over the decades. And the distant memories and family lore that he had been hearing since he was a baby.

His grandfather learned to play the violin as a child. By the time he was a teenager, he was playing sets with a wide variety of musicians, and styles. Over the years he had worked with musicians from Sinatra, and Bing Crosby and many others.

He played in orchestras, often in First Chair and in the later years headlined his own concerts.

His breakthrough had been when he had taken a Classic Miles Davis Tune and reimaged it on the violin. He remembered the night he had premiered it. Standing backstage. The concert was over, and the orchestra had left the stage, he’d done final bows.

Suddenly the lights went off. And the spotlight came back on. There he was in center stage. In front of the curtain. But he wasn’t alone, just the pianist, Upright bass, and drums and saxophonist. He said a few words and then started playing. The audience stopped in their tracks and they recognized the piece. From that moment on he was “The other Miles.”

His career took off again and he recorded a number of number one records of his own compositions and arrangements.

But that was another lifetime ago. In the last few years, arthritis and general old age begin to take their toll on his grandfather.

It had been years since he played the violin. His fingers just wouldn’t let him anymore. But even then he taught and lectured and tried to do some composing but it wasn’t the same without being able to play the notes he imagined.

Last few years he’d been a nursing home. Requiring almost round the clock care. His mind was slowly leaving without him. But somewhere in the depths of it, the music seemed to always find its way out. He had insisted when he went into the home that a small turntable and stereo. He couldn’t bring his vast records collection, so he had a few records that he always played. They came, and when he wanted something different, he has one of us bring it in for him.

He couldn’t handle the records or turntable himself anymore, so they did for him.

He had all of the nurses trained on how to handle records and use his turntable.

His mantra was “The only music worth listening to was on vinyl.”

The feel of the instrument in his hands seemed natural and it was. He had played in this younger day. But he knew was never as good as his grandfather. And never would be. He could play the notes and make the noise, but he couldn’t make the music. His sister, on the other hand, could make the music. And had even played with him in her younger years. He still had the video and tapes of them playing. But she had retired from playing many years ago.

Opening it up, he found the bow still neatly hooked to the top of the case.

The Little plastic t bar the held the end of the bow in place still where it had been turned to all those years ago.

The violin itself looked almost new. Exact for the small amount of dust that had managed to creep inside over the year. He knew it would need new strings and be re-tuned. As the strings on it were old when it had been out away.

And Now.

And Now?

Hell, he didn’t know.

His grandfather had passed. Quietly in the night. The record player quietly playing In the background as he went off to sleep.

The minster had called him not long after he passed and requested that he bring the violin, that he’d like to use in the funeral, as a display, And he would like to have it there soon so he could set up that way his sister wanted. So he brought it to him.

Sitting in a front pew he waited while the room filled up.

He knew his grandfather was widely known, and respected in many circles, in music, as well as business and in life.

So the large turnout was expected.

When you live to almost 100 years old, You meet a few people along the way.

After what seemed much longer it really was the minister come to the pulpit and began the service.

His grandfather the late Raymond J. Reynolds lay in the open casket in front of the church. All dressed in his finest tuxedo. An outfit that most have seen him in one time or another in one of his many concerts over the years.

He had expected to see the violin on display next tot he casket.

But it was nowhere to be seen.

As the service went on and the minister told about his life as a struggling musician and his rise to popularity and his influence on future generations of musicians of all varieties. He forgot about the violin.

As the service was winding down. The minister seemed to be stalling.

Finely he spoke;

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special tribute to Mr. Reynolds.

Mrs. Linda Reynolds, Raymond’s granddaughter would like to play a piece in honor of him with his violin.

Linda stepped out onto the stage. In her hands was the violin that had been stored in the family safe sine he stopped playing.

He knew she had played once a long time ago. But it had been years since she’d picked up an instrument.

But there she was in front of several hundred people wearing her best black evening gown and playing his violin.

For a half-hour, she played his most famous pieces and did it as well as he did.

There was not a dry eye in the place when the minster said final prayers and dismissed the service.

He met her in the back of the church after everyone had left.

She handed him the violin.

“No, You keep it, You need it more than I do. Just keep playing the music.” was all he could get out. While a thousand other thoughts crowded his mind and he tried to explain to himself why he could never play, at last not like that.

She had his talent and would carry his legacy forward.