The Organ.

I'm young. I get in the orange station wagon. I fight with brother and sisters all the way to their house. I walk in the house. I give them a hug. I head straight for the Organ. I don't know how to play it. I just love pushing the buttons and hearing the sounds. My favorite: the flute. It is amazing.

Fast forward 20 years. I get the call. They can no longer use it. Do I want it? My heart cries with joy. I get the organ. I will learn how to play it. I will have it forever.

Fast forward 1 year. We have a home for sell. We have moved but our home is staged. It is winter. A pipe bursts. My organ gets wet. My organ gets ruined. My heart cries again, but this time, there is no joy.


This is my organ. My organ that was passed down to me from my grandmother and grandfather. My organ that they entrusted me with. My organ that, although I never learned how to play, I loved. I loved it unconditionally. I loved that it was old. I loved that it was bulky. I loved that my grandparents loved me.

These pictures are all I have left of the organ. The physical attachment is gone. But when I look at these pictures, I am reminded of the car rides, the hugs, the hours spent pushing the buttons and looking at the colorful books, and the love. I'm glad that love isn't something that you have to hold on to - I'm glad that it sits in your heart, where you can feel it, even though the organ gets ruined.