I retired two years ago when Sarah, my first and only wife, died. Cassie, our daughter, won’t use that verb; she says “passed.”
Sarah had been after me for years to hang up my baton. Travel or not travel—she didn’t care so long as we’d be together. Now I’ve got the time but not Sarah.
Why did her dying provoke me to retire? In order that I could die a little too? To let her have her way, even belatedly and uselessly? Because I couldn’t go on doing what kept me from her without her? Frankly, I’m not certain. I actually retired on an impulse. There I was on the phone with Miles Cotter, our mild-mannered, omni-competent orchestra manager, about arranging for a children’s choir for the Mahler Eighth when I found myself saying “Miles, time to start looking for a new music director.” I didn’t decide, but something in me did. |
Items in cart - View Cart 
