After I made arrangements to stay with her, I noticed that she seemed to be more tired than usual, except when she played the piano. However, this time was a little different when she played. She told me to repeat what she did and I wasn't really sure how, yet, she encouraged me to do what she did. My notes were clumsy at best but she smiled, reassuring me that I'd get the hang of it eventually. Why she was trying to teach me how to play the piano was something that, at the time, I didn't understand but I resolved to learn because it made her happy.
It became routine. She would begin lessons in the late afternoon and we'd practice for roughly about a few hours. Sometimes, we'd try again after dinner. My notes became less clumsy but they would not be as beautiful as hers. Nevertheless, she turned those lessons into bonding sessions, resolving to spend more and more time with me before her surgeries. While I didn't say it, I knew there was a chance that whatever she had those surgeries might not fix it and she might not make it. In which case, she wanted her last memories to be with me, her sister, the only family that she's had left.
With that bit of knowledge, I made the resolve to learn how to play the piano, even if she wouldn't live to sit beside me as I play it. It made her happy in what could be her final days with me, so it was fitting that I'd make it my resolve to learn how to play the piano before her surgeries. Somehow, she sensed this and sort of eased off a little, yet our lessons never stopped, even as she grew a more tired.