what a difference a day makes

I'm sitting here listening to the Bach Concerto in D Minor for Two Violins, the Largo, the one that Dad, Nancy and I used to play all of the time (I played the piano), and it DOES bring tears to my eyes. All those memories - standing in the piano room at the black upright piano, Dad behind me on the left, Nancy on my right. Dad played first violin, so Nancy would start out the Largo, then Dad would come in a few measures later with that haunting, lilting high E as it holds, suspended - you'll just have to listen to it sometimes - breathtakingly and achingly beautiful.

Yesterday was a tough tough day - I felt like a watermelon that was hollowed out, only there was no fruit salad! Then Steve came home from work and showed me his laptop. There were almost 100 e-mails from delegates all over the state. The main phrase was that he and I were a "class act." I don't know how much of this is sinking in for either of it, but it's nice to hear. Then this morning I got an e-mail from one of my favorite brothers-in-law, Jot, who lives in Minneapolis. That was the first that made me cry, so I want to share it:

Dear Susie and Steve,
I just learned of your disappointing news. I’m so sorry. Yet as I think of your effort I am reminded of Teddy Roosevelt’s famous quote from 1910:
It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly...who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
Steve, you did great. This may not be your time, but take pride in trying, in striving, in getting your face dusty, sweaty and bloody. I’m proud of you!

Jot

To feel that unbelievable and solid love and support means the world to ME (I won't speak for Steve). Roosevelt's quote was an EXACT duplicate of what Steve went through, and maybe that's why I cry - it was so incredible to see his great enthusiasm and devotion, spending himself in a worthy cause, and yes, his failing while daring greatly. He is definitely NOT a cold and timid soul. But still - to see the one you love get so beat up is difficult, at the very least. I want to just hold him and tell him I'll go talk to the teachers, but wait - he's not my child! I want to tell him I'll talk to someone about it, but wait - there's no one to "talk to about it" because it just IS. And we're both grown up. So I just stand at his side and quietly take his hand, and pat it sometimes. I think he knows what that means.