I was in Florida for winter break

A break from the sharp winds and rough roads

A break from the overall vibe of a Michigan winter.

I was staying with my great grandma at her house

No, her home.

She had black and white pictures scattered around her home

Of distant memories with her children and grandchildren

The blurry, faded, oval portraits of family that came generations before her

hung in their own special place on the wall

And my great grandma knew everyone in those pictures

And she could tell you a story about every one of them

She told stories as much as she played the organ,

and just as well too.

The old wooden box that sat in her sun room was crowded

with old songbooks and sheet music

Most days I was there she would sit at the organ

and I would stand with my trumpet

and we would play far into the night

She said that she wanted me to play at her funeral

I joked that I would have a long time to practice

But we picked a song anyway

One of her favorites, a hymn from when she was my age

And I’m glad we picked it when we did

For the week after I got home, I would be on a plane going back again

But not in a T-shirt and shorts

In a suit, my dad helped me pick out

Not on a beach

But in a church

Commemorating the long- lived life of my great grandma

As I walked up to the front it felt too surreal

My silver trumpet glistening in the pale yellow lights that shone on the stage

The bottomless pit in my stomach grew deeper as I looked out at pews full of people

I started to read the speech I wrote

But as I looked out,

I realized that it wasn't the time for it

So I started playing

I put my heart and soul into that song and it was the best thing I've ever played

Even now I recall that last note

So full of life and energy

That one could have thought she was up there with me