Today is a day I’ll cherish forever—a day that brought me back to the woman who shaped my life as a musician. I recently learned that my piano teacher of 11 years, Joan Hummel, was living in a nursing home. It had been over 20 years since I last saw her, but I happened to be in her town to practice the organ at a church where I’d be playing. I knew I had to visit her, to play for her again after two decades of being an organist and pianist, no longer with her by my side to keep time, critique my phrasing, or make me repeat tough spots until I got them right.
Joan was the reason I became an organist. She saw the best in me, pushing me beyond my comfort zone with a belief in my potential that I didn’t always see myself. She taught me the value of “perfect practice,” not just practice, instilling a discipline that went far beyond the keys. More than that, she taught me to love music, to feel it deeply, and to believe I could achieve anything I set my mind to. I can still hear her encouraging voice, see her patient smile as I struggled through a tricky measure, knowing she’d never let me give up.
When I arrived at the nursing home, Joan wasn’t able to speak much, but the moment I introduced myself, tears welled in her eyes. I wheeled her to the piano, my heart racing with anticipation, and showed her the music books she’d lent me all those years ago—books I’d never returned. I pointed to the first hymn she had me play at church, her handwritten notes still marking the pages, and the books with my classical recital songs. She nodded, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Then, I played—hymns, classical pieces from our recitals, and Christmas songs that we’d once worked on together. As the notes filled the room, I saw her smile, the same smile I remembered from 20 years ago. It was the smile she gave me when I brought her a trophy from a talent contest I’d won, the smile she flashed when I finally mastered a measure I’d struggled with for weeks. That Joan. That smile.
I knew she recognized me, not just by name but through the music—my style, the way I played. Music was her life, and I pray that in those moments, she was transported back to the good days we shared. When it was time to leave, I knelt down and held her hand. She squeezed it tightly, not letting go, a tear rolling down her cheek as I spoke. I told her how much I admire her, thanking her for the countless hours she invested in me, shaping me into the musician I am today. “I’m forever grateful for everything you did,” I said, my voice trembling with emotion.
Shared by Jessica Brandt-Denison, this story isn’t just about a reunion—it’s a tribute to Joan Hummel, who was so much more than a piano teacher. Those $4 lessons gave me more than musical ability; they gave me confidence, passion, and a lifelong love for music. Joan’s legacy lives on in every note I play, a reminder of the profound impact a teacher can have on a student’s life.
