He can’t remember my name – he doesn’t know anything about himself. Somehow, though, he can remember keys, and he can play music. Music is his connection to others and to the world. Watching him play as the notes take control of him and the memory of the song takes over his hand is one of the most magical sights. But today, May 12, marks the 3-year anniversary of the car crash that disabled my husband. It was 3 years ago that he picked me up and drove me around the city and to a restaurant. It was a warm day with a few scattered clouds. The buildings were as tall and fascinating as ever. New renovations were being mad, and a fountain had just been built in the square near our apartment in New York. Who could have predicted the event that would forever change our lives. We were leaving the restaurant and on our way back home, when, naturally, we stopped at a red light. Jazz music was softly playing in the car, but otherwise, it was silent. The light changed to green, and we continued on our way home when suddenly, a car came from the left and hit us on the driver’s side. After the crash, everything was a blur. There was blood and then some lights. All I know is that I wound up in a hospital bed the next morning when I woke up. I was utterly confused and sore, since I had broken my leg and bruised my arms and other parts of my body. To sum it up: everything hurt. I asked the nurse where my husband was. She told me what had happened the night before and that I was lucky. Lucky!? I wasn’t lucky. I scoffed, but she told me that my pain was physical. I asked her what she meant, and she told me to rest and assured me that I would see my husband later. She gave me my pain medication, and I couldn’t resist falling asleep. When I woke up, it was lunchtime the next day. The nurse, fulfilling her promise to me, rolled my bed down the hall and up the elevator to the 9th floor. She pushed me to room 906 and explained that I had to be quiet and asked if I was ready. She took me in and put my bed next to his. There were two doctors and a nurse already in there. I will never forget the moment I saw his face.
–The loud sound of the piano brought me back into reality and away from this memory. I watched him play until he finished the song, enjoying every minute of it.