By Sheila Zimmerman
My mom was a conductor of an orchestra…a different kind of orchestra.
No, you didn’t hear about her, but she played all the instruments.
You see, it all started with a very soft flowing sound of the violin,
welcoming the start of a new day…you could hear the gentle winds
flowing through the strings as the music gently sounded.
The drum brought a thump as she listened to the hearts of her loved ones,
and counted the beats, she watched over us that the sounds didn’t get too loud and out of control.
The trumpet sounded as she alerted us to the dangers in life that we would have to face in the days and years ahead.
The beautiful notes on the piano with the scales of the years that would generate all the octaves both on the white and black elements of life.
As she played the bass, it kept us in the rhythm of the seasons,
the darkness in the horns and the lightness of the harp.
As the guitar sounded, its acoustic strings bringing on the chords of directions and paths to follow.
From year to year, the melodies of life changed but the orchestra kept playing.
The music was heard long after her unexpected death at 58 years old.
As these notes resounded in our heads, these melodies will long
be remembered.
Yes, my mom was the conductor
of an orchestra and the baton of our lives.
In loving memory of my mom.
