Have you heard of the word, magic? It’s such a short, five-letter-word, yet it can mean so much. And it happens to be one of my favorite words.
Well, if you’ve heard of it, do you believe in it? Do you believe in Christmas Miracles? Or love? OK, so maybe you believe in it. Have you experienced it? I have. And at the time, I was a mere eight years old . . .

My grandfather had just died and in his will, he left me a piano. He didn’t leave it to my parents, or my 11-year-old brother, Johny. He left it to me. I never really understood why he left it to me. I had never played the piano before, nor had I ever thought about playing one. I don’t know how, but he knew that someday, music would become a very big part of my life.

I remember one day, maybe two or three weeks after the death of Grandpa Louie, when I walked into the music room, suddenly curious about the old piano. I sat upon the stool, slightly leaning forward. My fingers tingled as my hand gently grazed over the keys of black and white. In triplet form, I played the notes C, D, E. A quiet noise came from the instrument.

Suddenly, the notes C, D, E were played back, only an octave lower. I looked around and no one was there. Wanting to see if the results would repeat, I played the notes again. Just as before, they were echoed back an octave lower.

“Grandpa Louie?” I asked softly. There was no answer. Thinking I had imagined it, I started to get off my stool, but the notes C, D, E were being distributed from the piano, getting faster and faster. Then, it went from C, D, E to C, D, F. The song fascinated me and, once again, I took a seat on the bench. This was Grandpa Louie. I had known that now. I added in chords and notes here and there while he played the same rhythm with C, D, E, and occasionally F.

We played on and on for an hour when my mother came in. The music stopped and I turned to her, unwilling to get the smile off my face. “Caroline? Was that you playing? Just now?” she asked.

“Um . . . yes. It was.” I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to tell her about Grandpa Louie. I felt like I had something special with him, even though he was dead. But, you know, he isn’t really dead. He lives on in me, in my family, and in music. If I ever needed to speak to him, I’d play “C, D, E”, announcing my arrival, and then make up a song to try to express myself. Sometimes in a minor chord if I was gloomy, but it was a major chord if I was in high spirits.

I later went through college to major in performing and I became teaching private lessons to young, hopeful kids. I also began writing songs and felt like my life was complete. I felt as though my grandfather’s life continued on when he died. It continued on through me. I was an extension. And now, there is another extension. For I passed away a couple weeks ago. If you’re sad, please don’t be. I lived a long, full-filling life. I was 88 when I died.

Music helped me get through life. And it helped me believe that something good was just around the corner. Through music, I could be a whole other person. I could be melodramatic. Or giddy with glee. Music is a true form of magic. It’s who I am today, even though today, I am a mere spirit. A ghost, if you will. But if you’ll excuse me, Jaicob, has just received the message. The message that his deceased Great-Grandmother Caroline has sent him a grand piano. It may be old and a tad out of tune, but I believe that it will truly help him on his journey through life.