Let me tell you something about Howard.

Howard is a seventy-something piano player who has become pretty darn famous in Seattle. He played for years at "Sorry, Charlie's" on Queen Anne and developed a loyal following. Opera divas, jazz singers, rock stars - everyone came to Howard's to sing at the microphone as he played along. Any song, any key. Always incredible.

I began visiting almost two years ago. The first time, my knees were knocking, and I was a nervous wreck. You see, it had been years since I had really sung much of anything. My life had become an endless volley of raising three young children and running a business from home. Throw in a couple of island causes, and I was out of luck. No time to sing anymore.

As I visited "Sorry, Charlie's" more frequently, something happened. I remembered what it feels like to sing. One time, Howard squinted at me through the smoke and said, "Where do you sing?" I mumbled, "I'm not actually a singer. I'm a stay-at-home mom who runs a business on Vashon." He said, "Hey, that's what you do. What you are is a singer."

Since that moment, there's been no turning back. Singing with Howard gave me the confidence to join a great vocal ensemble, and perform solos for two concerts. I even got to wear a boa at a concert, and sing the solo in the incredibly sultry "Brazil."

All of this singing has done something for me. And it has brought home some important questions. If you ask me if I am a good mom, I will tell you I am. Ask me if I am good at my business, and I will say that, too. But ask me where I am happiest, and what I would rather be doing at any given moment than anything else - I will tell you I would rather be singing.

Why do we let motherhood take from us what is so very basic to our happiness? Why do we forsake what puts giddy smiles on our faces? After all, don't we want our children to see us with hobbies, with passion? Gloriously happy even?

It hasn't been easy to become a singer again. I have had rehearsals that go longer than I want, and gone to sleep feeling completely exhausted. I have gone to sing with Howard, and taken a boat back at 12:30 in the morning. I have been to more than one rehearsal while I watched my kids play in the back of the room until my husband rushes in from the ferry.

I have struggled with putting the same "oomph" into every line that I would have done when I was 25 (and felt a bit more sultry). Now that passion has to come from another place, deep inside. It is buried beneath years of mothering, playgroups, and fatigue. But it is still there, and it is feeling more comfortable each time I put it on.

In the end, we all have our passions. For some of you, it may be finding moments to write poetry, or to garden, or to knit sweaters. But passions are the key - I believe we deserve to have them, and our kids can then see that children can be part of a journey - and the journey doesn't end when we have children. It begins.

I know that Howard was right when he said that singing was my passion. And I continue coming back to it, and to Howard. And now, when he plays in the renovated and re-opened "Mirabeau Room" on Queen Anne, I am one of the "family". We hug, we bond, we click when we sing "our numbers." All of the regulars know me - and it feels like I have been singing with Howard forever.

And now, I embrace more creativity, more passion - and a few more things to juggle in my day.

And it is all worth it. Because not only do I get to sing, and not only do I get to tap into that basic happiness that has always called me back, my entire life. But I get to share it. The other day I saw my daughter Emma, singing in front of the mirror, with a certain tone, a certain affectation, a certain style.

She was singing "Brazil."

And I look back on my life of singing, and I smile. What wonderful times Emma has ahead. What wonderful, wonderful times.

Editor's note: Lauri Hennessey wrote this column and it ran in the Herald two years ago. After it ran, she received e-mails and phone calls from moms who were struck by the column, and one even told her she had posted it on her refrigerator as an "incentive" to follow her dreams. The column was based, to a large degree, on Seattle piano legend Howard Bulson and how he had changed Lauri's life. Lauri found out last week that Howard, who Lauri calls "the best damned piano player I ever met" died two weeks ago. She wanted to submit this column as a salute to her old friend. "We became dear friends after I wrote this column," she said. "I mailed the Herald column to him after it ran. He said it was among his most treasured newspaper clippings." She will miss him. The world will, too.

Lauri Hennessey writes "Children and More" each month for the West Seattle Herald. The mother of three, she runs her own public relations business, and can be reached at Lauri@hennesseypr.com.