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