Music has always impacted my life. Although I am practically tone deaf and have no talent whatsoever in the field– growing up in a family of musicians, it’s one of those things that I was exposed to regularly and thus, naturally grew up with an appreciation for. My father is a pianist who was fortunate enough to be gifted at birth with the ability to play by ear and can also read music. My brother plays guitar and is extremely talented as well. Looking back, when I think about each of my childhood homes, one constant fixture is my dad’s beloved baby grand piano. From Los Angeles to North Carolina, and then finally here to Florida– that precious instrument, a black beauty– with it’s shiny shellacked finish and ivory keys– whose careful dissemblance of parts, wrapping, and packing was to be entrusted with none other than my father himself, would arrive without fail safely every time we moved… In 2013 I received a phone call from my mother telling me I needed to come home; my father had just had a stroke. Her tone was bizarrely calm considering the circumstances… when I finally arrived at the hospital his doctor told me that the chances of him making it through the night were a slim 10%. Miraculously he did survive, but as a result his mobility on one side as often is with stroke patients—was extremely limited. After his stroke, it was that piano that would prove to be his rehabilitation tool. That piano brought my dad back to life. In more ways than way it was an instrument (pun intended) that served to strengthen him not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. That’s why for me, a life without music is a notion that I can’t fathom.