Musical Memories

I travel from time to time for my job. Tonight I was eating dinner at a hotel in Virginia. There were only a few patrons in the small restaurant. A baby grand piano sat In the lobby of the hotel. At the table across from me was an elderly couple. I easily overheard the husband ask if anyone played the piano. The waitress told him that patrons play and to feel free to play it.

Not more than five minutes later I hear a light tune wafting through the air. I tell his wife how wonderful it is to hear such lovely music. As a smile spreads across her face, she simply replies, “It is his birthday. He is 85.”

I lose myself in the melody, immersed in memories of Mom playing the piano.

Mom learned to play the piano when she was in high school. Attending a boarding school, gave her daily access to a piano. During those years, she had to memorize complete pieces of music to pass on to the next lesson. She continued her lessons in college.

With five children, buying a piano was not financially feasible. There were too many other expenses, leaving the piano low on the totem pole of priorities. Yet, her desire to have her own piano never waned.

Finally, with all of her children launched into adulthood, Mom told my dad and grandfather that she was going out shopping for a piano. They just looked at her and chuckled. That was all she needed. Determined to buy one, she headed out the door. Returning a few hours later, Mom announced she bought one. Mom was in her empowered glory!

She loved playing the piano. Dad would brag about her talent, causing Mom to pooh-pooh his admiring remarks. Of course, the rest of us loved to hear her play, too.

As the grandchildren came along, she would play songs for them. She really enjoyed passing on this love of music to them. In the picture, taken about 15 years ago, she is playing as two of her granddaughters scramble at her feet.

The piano has been silenced for years. Mom can’t play anymore. In fact, she hasn’t voiced a desire to play for a long time. I know she can’t follow the music. No one asks her why she doesn’t play; that would be a cruel slap of reality for her. It would be a knife to her heart and self-esteem.

Tonight, instead of dwelling on her inability to play, I am focusing on happier times of her tickling the ivories for us. It lifts me up. I can see her play one of my favorite songs, El Toreador. As she finished the last note, she turns and takes a bow. We enthusiastically applaud, as if she is playing Carnegie Hall.

Thank you Lord, for giving me these precious memories that Alzheimer’s will never rob from me. Her music accompanies us as we travel down this path together.

JaneEllen

The Beginning

Several years ago I noticed Mom was beginning to get confused when organizing big family dinners. Ours is a family of two parents and five children. Big family dinners was an everyday occurrence. As a stay-at-home mom, which was the norm back in the day, she could handle the every day ups and downs and intermittent crises. In fact, she loved planning the meal, choosing special traditional family fare and cooking. And oh, how she could set a table! We didn't have much Waterford crystal or Royal Doulton china, but the table sparkled with her personal touch of flowers from the garden, lace linens and her wedding silverware. When I think of hospitality, visions of Mom's holiday table flash across my mind. It was her personal signature. She set the bar high for us to follow. And truth be told, I have never quite been able to emulate her style. Mom’s style is a tribute to the classic days of yore.

But that started to change. It was such a imperceptible shift that everyone missed it, except me.

I have been blessed (or burdened, depending on your point of view) with the gift of keen observation and vivid memory. When I saw Mom trip up on the comings and goings of the holiday activities, I knew something wasn't quite right.

The first time was at Christmas. By this point we were all adults with families of our own. Some of us were married, some divorced and most of us with children. All in all there were 19 of us at a family dinner.

That year we decided to have a girls lunch with Mom, my sisters and sister-in-law. Unfortunately, due to all of our schedules, we couldn't make it to just one lunch. The simple solution was to have two lunches with some of us going to both and some attending only one lunch. Mom was completely confused as to what days we were going, who was going when and where we were meeting. Although it was discussed over and over, she couldn't retain the information.

I chalked it up to the holiday rush. I didn't want to go any further than that. Looking back, I am pretty sure there were whisperings in my mind that Mom's confusion went deeper than hubbub of the holidays. I just couldn't go to those dark corners where my fear resided. I didn't want to venture there, not yet anyway. I just wanted to immerse my being into the well of family love that accompanied all of our family gatherings. We were a blessed family - and still are, just in different ways.

JaneEllen