Guitars, Music, and Partly Living

Standing next to me is Aaron's guitar. From the day we bought it in September, 04 until the day he died, that guitar became a part of Aaron; as much as a football, Dragonball-Z action figures, and movies. I loved hearing the music he could make and I admired the way his long fingers played the strings. Aaron let his friend Liz add some art-work to the face, but she only got as far as the pencil outline before he had to go. "OK Dad, put it down you're gonna smudge it."

With a back-pack, sandals, and his guitar case over his shoulder, Aaron had just enough, and those items meant the most to him.

Musical sounds speak every language. A relaxing tune is a relaxing tune in English, Spanish, French... Aaron played his guitar day and night. I remember him saying he plays before bed to help unwind. In Aaron's hands this guitar played pleasant music. I remember the feeling of content I had walking in and out of the house hearing Aaron play. Having gone through the violent times of the drug use days just a year and a half earlier, angels couldn't have played more pleasing notes to my ears.

From time to time I pick up the guitar. If it was easy to play, everyone would play a guitar. What balance is to riding a bike, rhythm must be to playing an instrument. I have coordination but not dexterity or rhythm.

The guitar is a beautiful instrument. Music is trapped inside, waiting for the magic hands to release the notes. In the hands of Aaron this guitar made music. On the stand it looks so lonely. Partly living we could say. If Aaron were to walk through the door-way, the Jerry Garcia shoulder strap would reach out to him. Instrument and owner would be one again. Alive with music.