Romeo Plays the Piano in His Nursing Home

I don't put boundaries on myself
when I sit at the piano.
-- Vanessa Carlton

I wheeled Romeo into the activity room, right up to the piano, and set the brakes on his wheelchair. "Will you play something for me?" I asked.

Romeo grew up playing piano. He took lessons until he went away to university. He enjoyed it and was, apparently, quite good. He loves classical music. His favorite composer is Beethoven.

But, until now, Romeo would never play the piano for me, not even a keyboard. He said that he couldn't remember how to play anything, couldn't remember any chords. He wouldn't play for his own enjoyment, for fun. He wouldn't play for the sheer creativity in it. And he wouldn't play for the exercise it would give his brain.

Romeo couldn't get past the idea that he thought he wasn't good at the piano anymore. He was hung up in grieving for the pianist he once was, hung up in sadness that he didn't keep up his playing, hung up in fear that he was no longer good at the piano. This has been going on since we've known each other.

Until now. Without asking, I gently placed him in front of the piano and asked him to play. He smiled, raised his arms, plunked his fingers on the keys, and played for a few minutes. I don't know what he played, he doesn't know what he played. But he played. He played. And he said he will play again.

And the fear that he was experiencing? Gone, apparently. Gone for good? We don't know. Gone because of dementia? Possibly. My little wish is to hear Romeo play often. The next step for him and the piano? I'll bring some sheet music from home, place it at the piano in front of him, and see what happens.