After a premiere

Earlier today, I heard a new piece I composed. This first performance is called a premiere and composers typically live/die for the experience. There is the drama of rehearsals running up to the performance often with hair-on-fire revisions and tantrums because the music is too hard or not to the liking of the performer.
After a long, quiet, almost-boring writing process, the machinery of concert producers can have a circus quality. No two premieres are alike -- everyone has its treachery, its surprises, its anxieties.
But this premiere was one that I've been looking forward to for a number of years. This is the first time I was able to compose something that my wife, my son and I could perform together. I've been waiting for my son to become proficient enough that he would have a positive experience. Arriving at this moment has been like watching paint dry or corn grow -- it's taken a long time and I've not been paying attention.
And then, this Advent season, it was obvious that it was now or never. My son is visiting colleges and submitting applications and we're filling out FAFSA forms. The reality of his moving out of the house - though it won't happen for months - is starting to approach like a distant freight train. It will be here and then it will roar by in a cloud of dust and then it will be gone and all will be quiet, again.
This Advent is our last one, I think. It won't be the last time I compose for all of us, however. The real sense of satisfaction that follows a successful premiere was amplified because all of the performers belonged to each other. I found that there is a deeper, non-musical bond that remains and is strengthened by the making of music.
I mis-counted in the final bars, my son had a few burples at the beginning, and my wife was perfect (as usual). The hair-pulling and frustration that attends every premiere was there, but this time we all blinked at each other and then decided to go get some rolls and coffee and get back to work. No biggie.
Except, there was a whiff of a transition in the air. We will never be here again. And it is good. Happy Christmas.