The Symphonic Memoir in A minor is a 34 minute work for symphony orchestra. It describes the day before the stroke, when everything seemed fine, when the strokes happened, the emotional turmoil in the aftermath, the inevitable grief and loss that follows and finally an Anthem to all survivors.
Here is a sample, before we record professionally.
Prelude.
Before the dawn, the day undone.
I wake at the same time.
Coffee.
Feed dog, cats.
Shower. What to wear?
I leave the house.
Travel.
Work. Calls. Emails.
Lunch.
Meeting.
In the day’s fog of to do, unaware.
Home.
Feed dog, cats.
Dinner.
TV.
Climb into bed.
Another chapter read.
The day, the hour, the minute before it all gave way, and I am undone.
I. Lento Allegro. The Gentle Assassin.
The Gentle Assassin disguised itself silently, barely noticeable.
Always there.
Waiting.
It whispered silently through my mind, waiting.
Suddenly it struck softly. No pain.
Everything out of reach.
I desperately wrote my last words before I could write no more, “My name is Andrew Stopps”.
Words whirled, and sentences stumbled, I stumbled.
And then, as quickly as it came The Gentle Assassin retreated, and I was safe.
The Gentle Assassin saw and this time, it took the form of a storm that raged through my mind. I was helpless and afraid as it took me and I was his.
I lay vulnerable and broken, weighed down by an invisible hand, and the whispers of the Gentle Assassin fading away.
II. Allegretto. Behind the Mask.
I wake.
I have changed.
Sing me a lullaby. Protect me. Please.
The mask has been crafted over a lifetime.
Forged in love, loss, strength and longing.
Behind the mask hides a child,
Vulnerable, scared, lonely, fragile.
All thoughts, feelings, emotions tumbling forth at once.
A fugue of emotion and thought.
All wanting, all crying,
to be seen and heard,
protected and loved.
Understood.
Behind the mask,
we are children.
III. Adagio. The Weight of Sorrow.
I am alone, and broken.
Searching for healing.
Searching for any part of me that I recognise.
I long, desperately for the past.
I have one foot placed there and one here,
but it is an illusion,
a memory,
and I feel the crushing weight of sorrow and loss.
Who am I?
I am lost.
IV. Anthem.
In a lifetime
We survive.
Loss, grief, despair, illness, betrayal.
Crying for the moon.
We survive.
You survived.
For love, joy, ecstasy, acceptance.
You are strong.
You are enough.
This is your anthem.