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tapes. I picked up three of them; Mozart, Bach and Beethoven. I said underneath my breath, Ok, Beethoven, you've been doing it for others for over 200 years, let's see what you can do for me.'

Both my parents were devout lovers of classical music, but when I lived at home I never tuned into it. I was quite oblivious of it. As a matter of fact, as I grabbed these cassette tapes, I remember being curious, thinking that I wouldn't recognize music from Mozart if I heard it. I had been so wrapped up in the Gospel music, and before that it had been the music of the 60's which I know to this day like the back of my hand. But Mozart was foreign to me.

So we headed up to the mountains. We backpacked up to a group of lakes where there wasn't anything higher than us but the peaks which were right next to us, and the stars and clouds above the peaks. They swooped right down where we were; majestic rocky peaks with patches of snow on them. I remember pitching the camp, the tent, rolling out the sleeping bags and cooking the dinner out of the dehydrated food. And I remember that night, as the boys were asleep, walking around in my grief. The moon shone upon the peaks, and I thought of my mother. I listened to Beethoven; The 3rd Symphony, The Emperor'. I had the feeling that with the music, and the mountains, I was close to my mother. There was something timeless about it all. She was gone, forever; Beethoven was timeless, and so were the mountains. It all started to mean something to me.

After the trip I listened a few more times to the tapes, and even remarked to my dad that I had bought the tapes and was enjoying them. I never told him about my thoughts up in the mountains.

Summer ended and eventually November came. It was my dad's birthday. The year before, my mother's last time to celebrate my dad's birthday, she made him an apple pie. As a family we all did the best we could to hold back the tears when she brought the pie to him, because deep down we knew what it meant. This would be the last of such a gesture of the love of forty six years of marriage. She did it with such love and dedication. So this birthday, I didn't know what to do. I certainly didn't want him to recall the prior year or that apple pie. I knew it would be too hard for him. We needed some sort of diversion.

I had read or heard that the Philharmonic Orchestra was going to be performing, and I thought I might get some tickets. I had no idea how special it really was; a concert was a concert I thought. But it happened to be a performance of Antoine Dvorak's cello concerto, with special guest cellist, David Lloyd Webber.

I wasn't prepared one bit. I sat there, with my dear widowed dad, instead of a homemade apple pie, I had brought him to the concert. But it was during that performance that it all hit me. I was blown away. I who only thought I knew what music was. David Lloyd Webber womped on that cello, and stomped on it like I had never ever seen or heard anyone play an instrument before. It was timeless. I learned the meaning of classical: something that defies time. I learned that some things are ageless. Yes, I wept, for joy, and because of the incredulity of the moment. And the words I had said under my breath in the drug store. The music of Beethoven had been doing it for people for over 200 years, and tonight, something timeless made its effect upon me. And I from that moment I began to heal.

I long to close my eyes

As I find the notes

The Masters wrote~

The music that would rise

Wearing not a cloak

To me without disguise

Oh the passion!

Depths of emotion!

Bare next my bosom

The soul within me cries~

Learn more about this author, Mac a'Bhaird.
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