When I walked into his room he was already standing up and walking towards the door. His boney legs quivered and nearly gave out. I caught him by putting my arms through his arm pit and holding him close. I positioned myself so that I could take his hand and guide him to the grey EZ chair sitting in the corner of the room.

Seated in the EZ chair he looked at me and said, “You were in the park.” I asked how he knew, he said something that sounded like gibberish.

Interestingly — ever since I can remember, I find a certain peace hearing the wind blow through trees or tall grasses. Perhaps it’s the musician in me — it sounds like music. The rhythms of rustling branches, the frequency and timbre of tree trunks creaking, or the sight of leaves falling from trees or fluttering in the sun. At a micro level — watching a leaf fall, or at the macro — watching a forest bend and sway.

As we sat in the common area, I asked Dad how he was feeling. With his eyes closed and exasperated tone he said, “I’m out of luck.”

That hit hard. I’m used to seeing my dad talk his way out of every kind of problem. I remember getting winks from his left eye that read both childish and cocky as if to say “watch this.” I remember that wink when he smiled blood in the water from people who did not know that were part of a well laid trap for his sharp and quick wit. I remember a man who made his own luck.

My mom asked me how I’m feeling and how I’m doing psychologically. Many people ask these questions of me. I hate them. I hate them because how I’m feeling and doing psychologically is temporal. A healthy mind does not stay in a certain feeling or state without end — feelings, like everything else, don’t persist forever.There are, of course, lingering thoughts. I often think about how much people misinterpret my responses as odd, not what they would expect if they were in grief, or the doubt they appear to have when they ask how I am. I entertain that thought often because I find it fascinating. I often think about the death process. For some people it’s short and sudden, for others it’s long and drawn out? In a sense — like a war — a nuclear blast versus a cold war of attrition. What would loved ones prefer? What would the dying prefer? How much energy goes into one or the other? Is there a third option? I wonder about energy. Is the energy from the person that dies wasted? Where does it go? It’s been studied that humans give off an aura. What happens to that energy? How is that energy re-used by the universe? Is this energy actually consciousness? And, does it move into some kind of other state or dimension? These thoughts occupy brain space. Tons of my own cognitive energy goes into these thoughts and questions. Since I find that a majority of the people I encounter don’t enjoy entertaining these thoughts, or they think I’m crazy, I must go elsewhere. In fact, as I write that, I have another thought — why does this experience with others reinforce my irrational belief that I’m typically the outsider? It’s easy for musicians, and many other artistic types, to feel like outsiders. The artist notices the world and humans in ways that the non-artist might not. And our noticing generates thoughts, wonder, and inquiry. And where conversation with other humans fails, I find communion with this energy field known as music. Imagine music as an aether that floats above you. You interact with it from time to time when you hear it. When you hear music that touches your soul you laugh, cry, dance, or whatever you do. It’s a public good we all benefit from. Well, that public good is made possible to you by the work of music artisans who are tapping into and restocking that aether for everyone’s benefit. Through the piano, I am communicating all of my thoughts, the hard to express feelings, I am giving the energy I have inside of me into the instrument and thus through the disturbance of air molecules that translates into sound that when interacting with your ear.drum gets perceived by your brain and thus a conversation and communion with a human is born. And then, When that music ends, so too does that communion. All that’s left is your memory of that idea. For me, the heavy burden of my thoughts is lifted,I am relieved.

I dreamed a specific and comforting dream a few nights ago.

In the dream I sat with a friend in a large room, like a church. The friend held my hand, in comfort and support, while we listened to (what seems to be) a priest talk about life.

Seconds later I am at my childhood home. In my bedroom closet putting away clothes. I call for Dad. I hear “What!” yelled from downstairs. Seconds later I hear foot steps walk into the room, and it’s Dad.

Professionals asses that Dad has approximately two weeks left to live — a dead line.

Thinking about deadlines I think about what all must I do before that time? What must be prepared? What must get shipped? Who must I connect with? Is what I’m doing good enough? Have I met spec?

Thinking about a “dead line”, I see lots less certainty. When will this time arrive? How do I plan before the time? Does it make sense to cancel what I have now? Should I keep it? How do I communicate to others? Will they understand?

An interesting experience while visiting Dad…

As you know, he’s dying, and when I went to visit him today he seemed so small and frail. Like a child. It’s as if I could crush his body with a slight squeeze of my grip.

Dad sat up. I sat next to him. Gave him a hug. He said, “why are you doing that” and I said, “because I love you.” He then said “I love you”, leaned back and slept. I so much wanted to cuddle up next to him, like a kid. I did not, mostly because I would crush him. Instead, I felt like Dad, I lifted his head to place a pillow beneath it and covered him with blankets.

Apparently musical training is associated with pain tolerance? More here.“Summary: A new study finds that musicians experience pain differently than non-musicians, thanks to how their brains adapt through years of training. While pain usually shrinks the brain’s motor maps and increases discomfort, musicians showed stable motor maps and reported less pain after induced hand soreness.”Another good reason to support live music and music education — pain tolerance. I’m sure more of us could use that.

Don’t let assholes — or the world for that matter — force you to cannibalize your calories on their issues.. They’re not worth it.**Focus on you.**Disclaimer: 69% of the time, they’re not worth it all the time. Take note of exceptions.