did I mention I love bagpipes!!

YES I DO! I have determined that you either love them or hate them. There's not much in between except maybe if you are like Whitney they kind of scare you. When I was about 10 years old my Dad decided he wanted to learn to play the pipes and he got a missionary in our ward to bring some home from his mission in England,where my Dad had served his mission as well. Ok, so I'll admit the chanter learning stage was a bit hard on the ears and nerves, but soon he became quite good, graduated to the full set of pipes and joined the Salt Lake Scots. How many kids get to go to a parade every single Saturday! I was in little girl HEAVEN! I really don't know what it is about the music that moves me so much. I was at a Scottish days in Denver once and as the mass band all marched in- maybe 50-60 pipers all in full kilts, sporran and jackets playing Scotland the Brave I sobbed. Not just a few tears-I'm talking bawling, snotty, loud sobs. Ok, I blamed it on being pregnant- but it happens every time, pregnant or not. I happened to mention this to my Dad once and he smiled knowingly and told me that my grandmother (who died when my Dad was 5 years old) felt and reacted the same way- "it's in your blood."
Well, happily I passed that blood onto my son. When Kurt was about 23 he told me he thought it would be so cool to play the bagpipes. Where did that come from?? He had absolutely NO musical training- in fact I always thought he was a bit tone deaf- you certainly don't tell your kid that-it may scar him for life- but I was thinking it. So I got him a chanter and taught him "Every- Good- Boy -Does- Fine", the treble scale- told him what a quarter, half and whole note was and said have at it! OI! Back to the chanter stage- it kind of sounds like cats fighting, mating and dying all at the same time. He looked things up on the internet and bought some books and he learned so fast I was stunned. But a chanter is nothing like the pipes. My wonderful Father paid to have his old pipes refurbished and generously gave them to Kurt. I'd gone as far as I could with him, so we found a teacher(can you imagine being the teacher of beginner bagpipe students? Not enough tea in China or haggis in Scotland!) But Jerry taught Kurt and Kurt worked hard and soon I had that wonderful, soulful music that I loved in my house again. I loved it, Mattie, our boxer DID NOT. She stands with her punched in nose flat on the bottom of the blow pipe and howls. The amazing thing is, she perfectly tunes her howl to the pipes! She is a 4th drone. It's quite amazing, really. IF your drone cuts out unexpectedly, Mattie jumps in and fills the tenor void. Oh what a sound! Kurt has a hard time watching her do this without laughing- If you laugh you can't blow! The entire scene warms my cockles!
Kurt played for 3 years, but there isn't much call for bagpipes. The occasional parade or wedding- but his pipes have been holed up in their case for about a year and a half. Last week we got a phone call, a very sobering one. A wonderful family here in Raymond who we have known for about 20 years, but who we are not really in contact with a lot, experienced what I think is the hardest situation a family can endure.
A little background may be in order here. As sometimes happens in small towns, our families have, at times, had a difference of opinions. Sometimes when I am the mom I turn into a stupid mother bear and do and say some even dumber things. But you grow and hopefully learn from your mistakes and mellow out just a bit. Sports can turn you into the biggest moron. So even though our families aren't extremely close- as also happens in small towns, you really are connected by children and other events. Dave was Kurt's basketball and track coach for a short time.(thus the differences of opinions) I did make up for the town theater group with Dianne and her sisters, which I must admit were some of the funniest times I have enjoyed in my life!. Whitney was best friends with Dianne's nieces and bought her first house from Becky, Dianne's sister. Paige was good friends with Will, their son and Dianne and I thought it would be great for these two beautiful children to get married and have children with HUGE eyes!. Like I said- in a small town you just stay connected in many ways.
Two weeks ago, Dave and Dianne's daughter gave birth to a sweet little boy who had Trisomy 18, which is a chromosomal diorder with a very high mortality rate. She was told early in her pregnancy that he may not even be born alive and if he lived, it may be for only minutes. As Whitney is pregnant at this time, my heart ached even more for Jade. But she and her sweet family were so strong and showed amazing strength, faith and courage. I kept thinking how hard it must be to know the baby you want so badly is not going to live- How do you do that? But they did live through it and with so much grace!! Little Locke William Arrington was born and lived to receive his name and a fathers blessing, was lovingly held by his parents, brother and sister and extended family, then passed silently back to God a short 8 or 9 minutes later. For some reason, and watching from a far, this story affected me in a way that I didn't really understand. I couldn't get it out of my head. I longed to do something for them- to make that ache they had to be feeling less painful. But what can you do? I facebook stalked Dianne and lamely sent her a sympathy note. It just felt so inadequate. When hard, bad things happen I have this need to DO something, to help in some way. It's like if you do something active, it will make it better somehow. It helps you cope with it too. Empathy is a blessing and a curse I have found.
That is when the phone call came. Would Kurt be willing to play the bagpipes at Locke's funeral? I asked Kurt and he did not hesitate. Even though he hadn't touched the pipes for over a year, he would do it. He started immediately getting the pipes in shape- no easy task. We had 3 days. Wrapping the connection joints to the drones, blow pipe and chanter- making sure the reeds are working and tuning them, and working the bag back in so it isn't dried out. Then there is the work your body has to do. The fatal "blow" so to speak, for a piper is losing your pucker. If you aren't in shape, you lose the ability to blow- your mouth and lips go slack and that's all she wrote! No more wind, no more sound. It's deadly. The first time through Amazing Grace he only got 1/4 of the way through. His back hurt really bad and he had to quit.
"What if they need you to play it through twice, Kurt?" I asked. " Kurt said- I will dance a jig naked if they want, but I'll do what ever they need me to do. I'll do it if it kills me. These people deserve my best. No matter what pain I may be feeling, it's nothing compared to what they have gone through." I went upstairs and cried. Then we tried on his kilt, vest and jacket. Tight but it was doable. "Can you breath?" Barely. I stayed right there and laughed. Hard.
On Saturday Kurt was so nervous. He wanted so badly to do right by these people, to give them something that was important to them. He and I went to the cemetery early to see where Kurt should stand so the music was not too soft or too loud. It sounded so amazing in that calm quiet setting. Then we waited. Nervous! Agonizing over the pipes to keep the reeds moist and warm. Kurt kept saying never again, why did I do this- then he's say- I know why I am doing this. After an hour and a half Whitney finally called to say they were on their way. As the family gathered I went and stood at the back of the group so I could signal Kurt to play. I was waiting for pall bearers, but all that came was a handsome father with a tiny casket in his hands. I froze. Wait- that's too small, I can't stand that it's so small! I couldn't wrap my head around it. I finally clued in that this was it- and I pulled it together just long enough to turn around and tell Kurt to play. I was shaking all over, and praying every note would be perfect for that too, too little box. And the notes were perfect. Amazing Grace never sounded so beautiful to me, or so sad.
After the prayer, everyone just stood there, kind of like you know it's over but you just can't move because this is it- this means it's done. Whitney and I decided to go stand by Kurt. He looked so handsome standing there at attention in his full Scottish gear, holding his Grandpas pipes on his shoulder. The pipes that I love. The son that I love. The man who doesn't know his own worth.
As we stood there, Dave came through the snow. This man, who could have held a grudge for
things long past took my son in his arms and hugged him. He then took Kurt's face between his hands and kissed him on the forhead and told him that he had a special place in his heart for Kurt. He told him that this service Kurt had performed meant so much to them and that they were so grateful. He begged us to come to the family dinner. We felt like we might be intruding, but we went anyway and again the entire family hugged Kurt and thanked him. The Scots and the Irish and probably the Welsh believe that if you aren't piped to your grave you don't go to heaven. Now we know this isn't true but if you're of a British Isle decent, it doesn't stop you from wanting a piper at your graveside. I want one- President Hinckley had one. You gotta have it. It becomes important and it's no easy thing to find a piper on short notice. How many pipers do you know? The family had called all over Lethbridge and nobody could do it that day. Only Kurt. I know why nobody else could do it. Nobody else needed this experience like Kurt did. Nobody else needed to feel needed or like he had something worthy to give more than Kurt did.
Why is it that when you give of yourself, you receive so much more than those you serve? That is just God's little tricky miracle.
The overall comment other than thank you so much was I didn't even know Kurt played the bagpipes. Yup. He does. And he did a wonderful job. Only he and I know he lost his pucker on the last note and that the song ended a bit abruptly. I asked Kurt was it worth it? Oh yes- it was so worth it. To know you eased their pain even just a little was so worth it.
I think God knew that I needed something too. To help Kurt realize the joy of selfless service and to put past slights to rest, along with a perfect little Irish spirit named Locke. Rest in peace, sweet baby boy.