DRUMSTICK MARKS ON THE WALL

DRUMSTICK MARKS ON THE WALL

It was the time of release. 

I walked through the house for the last time.
The carpets had just been cleaned and the smell of ten years of memories washed away.

Yet, the walls talked to me reminding me of  family holidays, arrival of grand babies, and all that fills the seasons in life…the good, the bad, the wondrous and the sad.  Each room spoke of specific years, specific occasions, and specific memories.

I walked down the stairs to the room I dreaded saying goodbye to.

It was his space… the entire downstairs in one open room.
His domain. 
The place that at one time was filled with his friends, guitars, speakers, his drums and the smell of him.

They were never a formal band, as the faces changed daily, but I called them ,

                        “J.T. And The Basement Boys.”

This was the gathering place.  The place where secrets were told, laughter was heard and the business of music was the theme.

Beginning with a tiny drum set from J.C. Penney, J.T. moved to bigger and better until he acquired an expensive Remo set from his uncle.  The shiny collection of silver and gold stood in the corner under the silk Bad Religion banner.


Sitting on his drummer’s throne he would raise the sticks high, striking the drums with the message that came from within him bringing his soul through the music. 


By clashing the cymbals he caused a vibration that went right through the walls of the house and out into the ether.  At times, he drummed with such speed and concentration he would leave drumstick marks as he hit the wall behind him.

I brushed my hands over these marks now.  The room had been quiet for many years since he passed.


Standing here with eyes closed I once again saw J.T. And The Basement Boys laughing, singing and living in the music.
I felt the throbbing of the drums circle me.

My hands cupped the wall as if trying to clutch on to the stick marks, the feeling, the sounds and the memory.  I wanted to hold on to the marks, cut them out of the wall and keep them forever held safely with me.

But, a time comes when everyone must open their fisted hand and release.

Release memories, release people, release anger and hurt … release whatever is holding your heart captured in space and time.

It was time to release.

It was time for me to release the house.  It was time to open the space for new people and their memory making.
It was time for me to release myself from this space and allow me to move forward.

 It was time to release the drumstick marks on the wall.

                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  ~ ~ ~

Pennie’s Life Lesson:
     “There comes a time when you must open your fisted hand
             and release what is holding your heart captured.”


***Since we all learn from each other, I would love to have you share your thoughts and experiences relating to this post in a comment below.  Thank you!***


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