Today we said good-bye to a friend.
He came for three years with songs and laughter and dancing, and Wade followed him like the Pied Piper of music therapy.
His teaching was a mixture of rhythm and glissandi, listening and counting, beach balls and swirling scarves, piano and castanets.
And for everything there was a song.
But now he's gone and we don't have a song for that.
And Wade doesn't understand the meaning of no David.
"David sick?" he says. "David in hospital?"
And I don't know what to say.
So we sit together and sing the "Good-bye Song" as we did so many times at the end of a session.
"Good-bye, David, good-bye.
Good-bye is what we say.
Good-bye, David, good-bye.
We'll see you again another day."
And then suddenly I know why.
It's the wrong song. David would have known that. Because his music isn't ending; it's only beginning. Today he is singing new songs more beautiful and golden than any he sang on earth.
And so we sing again, the right song this time, to David who lives today as he never did before.
"Hello, hello to David;
Hello, hello to David;
We'll sing and laugh and move and play;
It is music time today,
Hello, hello to David, hello."
Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. John 11:25