About a week or so ago (is time still a thing???), I thought about Ennio Morricone. Several years ago I had gotten tickets to see him conduct his music here in Los Angeles. I bought the tickets during the month of my birthday and I was incredibly excited to have gotten myself such a fabulous gift. As the date neared, I received word that Signore Morricone had been injured and wouldn’t be traveling to the United States. The concert was cancelled.

Over the ensuing years I have hoped he might reschedule, that I might again get lucky and score a ticket. Last week, when Morricone popped into my head, it occurred to me that my chance to see him in-person had probably passed. That he has aged (as have I) and the likelihood of a tour was low. I can tell you where I was in my house when I thought this, how the light looked in the room, even what I was wearing. I remember these details because it was at that moment that I relinquished a dream. Moments like that are seismic and they linger, with the occasional aftershock reminding us of the loss.

This morning I woke to news of the passing of Ennio Morricone in Rome, Italy. I have cried. I have smiled. No doubt I will continue to cry and smile over this man’s gifts for some time to come. Perhaps always. And that makes sense. Signore Morricone – you changed my life. Your music has cracked me open and healed me. It has taken me on fantastic journeys throughout the world, it has taken me to myself. I am forever grateful.

My heart weeps with the gentle tinkling of piano keys. The notes, simple and sincere, play the melody of life itself.

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