I have memories growing up of my father playing his piano. It wasn't just playing, he was escaping through the music that was so loud it tuned everything else in the house out. As a child, I always knew that was his time. I didn't bug him or ask him to play or ask to sit in his lap. Sometimes I'd go up and stand next to him and watch his fingers pound the yellow-stained keys with his head slightly bowed. I sometimes didn't know whether to stare or keep busy. No one seemed to mind. The music was loud. His notes were perfect. I will never know what went through his head while he played, but I know it was for him.
Sometimes I escape to my computer and play this particular song on full blast. Sometimes Sawyer freaks out that I'm not paying attention to him. Sometimes he lets me just sit and close my eyes. And escape. He finds something else to do so mommy can have a moment with loud music.
