Unexpected connections and events

Back in November 2020, I went on a trip to Queenstown with some of the family. I talked about it in a blog post at the time, and that post included a photo montage, along with a link to a Google Photo album of some photos I took on the trip, one of those photos is at right, and shows a busker playing a recycled piano at Queenstown’s lakefront. It was part of a nice day, and the atmosphere in Queenstown that morning.

Last week, I learned that the piano player, AJ Hickling (I never knew his name before), has terminal pancreatic cancer and is unlikely to ever perform there again. He’s been performing in Queenstown since 2012, and only stopped in September when he was diagnosed. He told news site Stuff, “The only time I really felt I knew what I was here for was when I was playing music.”

I remember being fascinated that he was there, playing on that beat-up old piano he rescued from the rubbish, filling the area with beautiful music. I thought all the contrasts were really interesting—and also that it all just seemed appropriate for the Queenstown lakefront.

Obviously, I don’t know him, and I also never spoke with him that day three years ago. He was busy playing, and I never interrupt musicians (apart from my sister when she was practicing, but I was in primary school at the time, so I don’t think that really counts). Nevertheless, I knew who it was about before I read the story, as soon as I saw the news alert about him when I sat down with a coffee and checked my iPad. It stirred up all sorts of things.

I thought about the day I took this photo, just one of many from that holiday. It was a fun trip—and difficult at the same time: We were there fourteen months after Nigel died, after the first Covid lockdown, and at a time when New Zealand’s borders were closed (which wasn’t bad for us: Queenstown wasn’t crowded as it so often is normally). AJ Hickling was certainly part of what I remember about that trip.

It also reminds me, yet again, that absolutely nothing about life is certain, and that it often isn’t even remotely predictable. While he’s realistic about how this will play out, he of course still hopes for a miracle, as I’m sure his family does, too. But for him to have quietly touched the lives of so many people from around the world just by playing music on that beat-up rescued piano, that’s a kind of miracle all its own.

I wish him well and hope he gets his miracle. I’m also grateful for the magic he spread that day three years ago.