Amadeus

              Months ago, Jim purchased tickets to the movie Amadeus at Boston Symphony Hall with the orchestra and chorus of the Haydn and Handel Society.

              The  stunning cinematography on a huge screen, coupled with the concert hall acoustics was nearly overwhelming.

Spoiler Alert: Mozart dies at the end. Yes, I knew that.

Near the end of Amadeus, a deathly ill Mozart dictates the Requiem “Confutatis Maledictis” (while the wicked are confounded) to Salieri. Mozart, too exhausted to continue, falls asleep. His wife returns to the apartment and confronts Salieri. When she finally turns to Mozart, she sees his open eyes lifeless and staring.

              After David died, I saw a movie character die on camera. It was such make-believe to me. How could an actor mimic a dead body?

              Tim Hulce could and did. His eyes in that death scene brought me right back to a certain August night.

              The following hearse scene transported Jim and me to our bedroom window, watching the taillights of a long, black hearse recede down the driveway. The amber turn-signal flashed silently a few times and the hearse turned towards the highway. Amadeus captures the anguish.

              Afterward the standing ovation, Jim and I sat back down, as the crowd buttoned their overcoats and moved slowly towards the exits. I nestled my head in the hollow of his shoulder and wept, overcome with emotion.

              Today, as I drove home from the Bedford Library, I realized that I would pass by David’s cemetery. I hadn’t visited his grave in months. The remaining ochre and brown leaves on the trees blended in with the dark pine boughs. I knelt on the damp grass and wiped away a few spindly pine needles and short blades of cut grass from the stone. Even now, it seems unreal.