I don’t remember when I started playing with the local community band. And when I joined I certainly didn’t expect to still be playing years (maybe more than15 years!) later or how lucky I’d be to form a friendship with the band’s music director.

But it was easy, she was a clarinet player as well as a band director in the public schools. We were similar ages, and had lots of the same interests. She gave me tickets to the Detroit Symphony, took me and others to the Detroit Institute of Art to see the Van Gogh show, invited me over to play with her beloved kitties, made meals for my husband and me when we got Covid the first time.

She gave of herself in ways too numerous to mention. As she did with so many others.

In recent years Shelley has fought cancer, going to treatments and tests but still coming, every Tuesday night, to rehearse a band that on it’s best days can be a handful. We are something of an island for misfit musicians, all with different sets of skills, different levels of commitment, but each of us 100% lovers of making music. When we get it right it is so right, and when we fail, well, we fail spectacularly.

And still she came, every Tuesday night. Arriving early, she was the last one to leave.

When the cancer struck again it became harder for her. She had moved an hour away to be closer to family and her doctors. The trip back to be with us was sometimes long, sometimes impossible. Still, she persisted. When necessary other dedicated music directors stepped in to give her a break.

But we always knew she’d be back. She wasn’t ready to give up her community band.

The last concert she conducted for us was this past October. By Christmas she didn’t have enough stamina to stand on the podium and keep us in line. I texted her after the Christmas concert, her favorite of each year, and gave her a report. We had done well, had a good crowd, we missed her, Santa said hello. She told me she was grieving the loss and missed us too.

She never came back.

Last week at rehearsal we learned she was in hospice at the family’s home. She was receiving visitors and cards and spending time with her grandchildren. This past Tuesday morning she died, her family surrounding her, and music playing.

Of course it was a Tuesday.

Maybe she knew that we’d need each other, as one by one we heard the news. She knew, of course, that there is no better group of people to be with when you’re mourning your music director than the people with whom you share the music.

And so we went to rehearsal. Those of us that knew had a hard time walking into the building, into the band room, looking at the podium. Even though she hadn’t been physically there since last fall, it was still her podium. Those that hadn’t heard the news yet sat in stunned silence as it was announced.

The room was quiet for a moment and then people started sharing stories and we laughed a bit and teared up a bit. And then we did the best thing we could do for ourselves, and for her.

We made music. For a moment the music had stopped. But only for a moment.

Last week I wrote Shelley a letter, thanking her for being a friend, for her advice, for her musical support, for our travels together, for her generosity, for her time and her care. There are so many stories I could tell you about her, and I am just one of hundreds who have stories of her giving to them and their families.

I ended my letter to her by reminding her of the hundreds of students she had mentored over her 30+ years of teaching music in our public schools. Her legacy will go on forever through those students, many who have made sharing music their careers.

I told her she was the stone tossed into quiet water and the ripples she made are still spreading out into the universe. I told her I didn’t think any of us could have a bigger affect on the world than what she’d done with her talent and her love.

And I asked her if, after she gets settled and has her celestial band warmed up and in tune, if she might look around for a way to let us know she’s OK. I told her I knew she’d be OK, but it would be nice to know.

I expect to be hit over the head with something fantastically musical any day now. And I bet that first concert up there is going to be amazing.