Following the Music


Tuesday, January 03, 2017

Today I am grateful for following the music.  Mom has gone from cantankerous and feisty and ornery, to sad and quiet.  Quiet?  My mom?  That’s the most frightening thing I’ve heard in a long time and I watched “Snakes on a Plane” the other night.


My mom does angry, hateful, funny, cunning, wise, frustrated and silly.  She does donuts, pie, cake, cookies, peanut clusters, Mr. Goodbars, Snickers and banana bread.  She does loud, boisterous and opinionated.  She does not do quiet.  This is new.  And I’m worried.


Of course I’ve been worried for a long time, so this is nothing really new.  And, of course, as many of you so kindly mentioned after yesterday’s rant, guilt seems to be the overriding emotion of the day. . .week. . .year. . .where my mom is concerned.  I was very encouraged by all of your comments because I no longer feel alone or crazy.  Many of you have walked in these shoes.


I thought I had a handle on it so I visited a friend in assisted living today.  It was a wonderful visit, laced with the pathos that comes when you know your road has been laid out in a direction you didn’t expect.  My friend is coping.  I hope my mom can.


When I left her and began the maze-like walk back to the lobby, I heard music.  Someone was playing the piano.  I thought it might be a friend of mine playing, who works there, so I followed the music.


There at a piano in a common area, with her walker nearby, was a white-haired lady, with arthritic hands, a stooped back and a smile on her face, gliding through Gershwin.  Standing to listen for probably way too long, I thought of the millions of times I saw my mom at her own piano, lost within herself, following the music of her soul.  Bing!  Heartprint!

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