There are those days. You know the ones. Something happens, and your life is forever changed, but you don’t realize it until much later. But it happened that day. Looking back, clarity washes over everything.

Meeting Bill? Total game-changer. I'm teaching at this music store on Long Island, trying to make ends meet. Then Bill walks in.

Bill walked in, a typical adult student—successful in his career as a doctor, passionate about swimming, and hesitant about returning to the clarinet after decades.

Bill's history with the clarinet traced back to college, but life got in the way. That's where I came in. Together, we carved out a path through dedication and persistence. Each session is a revelation. Bill's determination fuels our momentum. The hurdles? We leap over them like they're nothing. Our Monday nights became more than lessons. Bill became a friend, a confidant.

Then tragedy struck. Medical issues, strokes—a blow to his left hand. But Bill—stubborn as a mule—persisted. Despite setbacks, the clarinet remained his refuge.

Bill's resilience was humbling. Watching him, I found my own determination reignited.

Another twist came—pancreatic cancer. Our sessions took on a somber tone, knowing time was fleeting.

As I sit here, reminiscing, the impact of Bill's presence becomes palpable.

Post-clarinet era, Bill turned to painting. One of his watercolors adorns my studio—a silent testament to his enduring spirit.

Reflecting on that day, I'm struck by the lessons learned—about perseverance, about finding beauty in the mundane.

Every New Year's Eve, Bill's absence lingers. But alongside the sorrow, there's gratitude—for the time we shared, for the lessons learned.

Bill wasn't just a student; he was a reminder of fragility, resistance, and the power of committment.