Silence

December 4, 2011 at 9:14 AM

How many discoveries have you wished you hadn't made first on facebook? Right in the midst of all the repetitive OU/OSU football updates and complaints about the unwanted rain this evening, I suddenly learned that a musical colleague, Mike Lyons, had passed away last night in his sleep--at least, that's the report on facebook. He was the band teacher at Cook Inlet Academy, and an excellent musician. His two children came to me for piano lessons for several years, and he played clarinet and saxophone down in the pit with me in a few of our musicals. In the summers, he and his wife participated in Instruments of Change, a musical program for orphans and street kids in South Africa. Mike Lyons was a good man, through and through. I can't even think of how his wife and kids feel right now.

Music gets lodged in my head. I can still hear that clarinet, his voice. I don't like to think about the fact that it will never be heard again.

From marjory lange
Posted on December 5, 2011 at 3:22 AM

I'm sorry. But, at least, you have the memory, and as long as you do, he's not wholly gone.

From Tom Holzman
Posted on December 5, 2011 at 1:57 PM

What Marjory said. I sympathize with you in your loss, but know that he will always be present for you. One of the most interesting paradoxes of my life is that although my parents have been dead for a decade or so, they are actually more present for me at this point than at some times when they were alive. I think constantly of them, hear their voices, their laughs, etc. This is life, I think.

From Charlie Gibbs
Posted on December 8, 2011 at 11:51 PM

I understand only too well. We lost our band teacher when I was in high school. We were waiting for him to show up for a concert we were to perform at another school when we got the word that his car had been hit at a railroad crossing. He was probably thinking so much about the concert that he never saw the train coming.

"Mr. Mac", as we called him, held that band together through sheer force of will. Without him, the school's music program fell apart. I hate to think of how many people were set adrift from music that evening. I personally didn't touch an instrument again for over 25 years.

All we can do is cherish these people while they are here, and cherish the memory of them when they're gone. And, always, cherish the music.

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Silence

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