Mr. Wurlitzer

He's gone.

I knew the day would come, but I wasn't prepared for it.
Yesterday I walked into the room where I expected to sit down and enjoy our 'conversation',
a reunion of sorts that happens every time we visit. Only this time, he wasn't there. His creaky bench that sustained me for over 40 years, the faded wood, scratched black and white plastic keys I'd come to know so well, had been taken away. A bare spot in the room was all that I found.

He's in good hands, I'm certain of that. But we had a history, Mr. Wurlitzer and I--a bond, a special relationship that will never be replaced.

My mother was the one that first introduced us. She was a good friend of his. In the beginning, she was always there beside me, teaching me, showing me how to create sounds with my chubby little fingers. As I grew, my abilities and confidence did, too. Soon the choppy, uneven sounds grew connected and became...music.

I practiced, continued taking lessons, had a few recitals, entered contests and even created my own music with words. (Who needed to read somebody else's scribbles to make music?) In the beginning, I wrote about three legged deers, Abraham Lincoln and a summer crush that, to this day, only Mr. Wurlitzer and I know about. Eventually every thought, every emotion, every relationship was expressed and shared.

Photo- our daughter Katie becoming acquanited with Mr. Wurlitzer,
Easter 1992

When no one else would listen to me, Mr. Wurlitzer would. He would patiently listen as I spilled out my pain, my sorrows, my fears and my troubles...I would also take out my anger on him...For that, my friend, I'm sorry. I also shared my greatest happy moments with him-- memories of family and friends joining us in song, accompanying my voice and other voices and also an occasional saxophone or guitar. People would join us in the living room (after much prodding) to hear my latest creation. I could never hide anything from him...He knew my very heart and soul.

When I left the home we shared, I knew time would not dampen our friendship. No matter how long I was away, Mr. Wurlitzer would welcome me back. And it was this same welcome I expected yesterday...But it was not meant to be.

The house I grew up in is slowly being transformed. I suppose Mr. Wurlitzer grew lonely after my mom left and my visits with him became less and less. It's only right that his tired and out-of-tune-body should be looked after and cared for. Because he is still with family, I hope to visit him again someday.

Yes, Mr. Wurlitzer was special to me...Not just because he helped teach me how to play, write and enjoy beautiful music, but because he helped make our house a home.

Though you are only a spinet, Mr. Wurlitzer, you will always be grand in my eyes.