He was a virtuoso musician, the oldest brother in a family of Armenian traditional musicians, who played in clubs in and around Boston, Las Vegas, and California.Any bellydancer who played on the same bill knew him as fun and supportive to work with, a respectful gentleman, and someone with a heart of gold.We sat together at a table close to the band, as the room filled to capacity.A feast was served: many tables full of mouthwatering appetizers were brought out first.The amount and profusion of these alone were more than enough for a meal for us all.
All older now than our memories registered, familiar onstage faces broke into grins as we were recognized.Fire and Embers Recently, I had a poignant, sad, joyful and profound experience.I’m still working on processing the whole thing, through a range of emotions which are still startling me with their depth.I and two of my good friends, bellydancers all, who had worked with this man were invited to a very exclusive family gathering, a celebration of his life. (Personally, if they hadn’t gone with me, I wouldn’t have by myself.
I’ve attended enough funerals and memorials for those I love ( and so have they) so my face crumples and the waterworks start in earnest the second someone’s eyes water, or a voice cracks.
Then platter after bowl of the main meal were brought forth, each aroma more delicious than the last, the band took a break, and we all indulged and savored the amazing repast.