Posted 4-18-19
I had a really nice visit with mom today, albeit a tad earlier in the day than normal. I hit the traditional nappy time for most of the Sweet 17, right after lunch as their mush piles have had time to settle hearts and stomachs. When I got there, three princesses were asleep in the piano room and mom was playing with her fidget blanket. This little device is an extremely helpful attention-keeper for late-stage patients like mom.
Mom was very sweet and smiled when I came up and said “Hi!”. She then asked one of the nurses “Who is this guy?”, but not in a creeped out way like this reads. She joked when she said it like she used to when she was hiding her condition 18 months ago, but with a smile. We sat around for 30 minutes and fidgeted with the blanket together….a much better arrangement than her messing with buttons, her bra or her shoes. She could still talk during this activity and wasn’t fixated, she was entertained. Bravo to my senior center volunteers who made them! 🙂
This one has taken a beating from a lot of use. Several things were missing this round…
We, then, went slowly over to the piano and sat in the “great big fart chair”. (Sorry…it lets out air loudly when you sit in it that the ladies hear and laugh to every time someone sits there. Deal with it! That is just what it is, alright? It is also easier than calling it the “flatulence futon”.) I asked my marvelously melodious Mom-zart “What do you want to play?” She told me, after a long pause, “I lost my song”, which I translated to “I can’t remember songs.” The first time I heard that phrase was months ago and it made me sad then because of the deep symbolism that my writing mind draws to like a horsefly to the swimmer’s arm. Now, fortunately, I know the Alzheimer’s vernacular more fluently and realize that she merely needs the piano playing pump primed. Mom could technically play to a music sheet, but preferred to dip from the immense well of memorized songs that is still partially there. Anyway, I knew my job: sing a song or play a duet with her to get her going. My duet repertoire? I play a mean “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and an awe-inspiring “Mary Had a Little Lamb”, both of which I show in the videos below.
After a while, mom got going a little and played a few songs. I recorded a couple and just soaked in the rest. Sweet 17 sleepers arose to join in in the concert, as they are wont to do. (Listen really close and you can hear a few sing!) Mom had about 3 songs that she could play and we all had a very fun time! It highlighted the fact that her playing days are wrapping up, but it was a huge blessing for now.
Rewind 40 years: Mom tried soooo hard to teach me piano. Then, realizing that I was a numb skull/a tough cookie to teach, she splurged and got me piano lessons at the Nazarene church down the street with an experienced teacher. I took lessons for well over a year… and still stunk. Badly. I sounded like a pre-teen Peter Brady, except on the piano. Later in life, similarly, I tried in vain to learn to type with 10 fingers. Yes, amazingly I am a 20+ year IT professional who wrote/typed his 100+ page master’s dissertation with about 4 fingers (generously) at around 30 WPM. I am convinced that there is some sort of a disconnect between my brain and my fingers! Note: I am NOT a quitter in life. Examples: I, on a whim, joined a group of friends and ran a full marathon a decade ago…ran/lumbered through all 26.2 miles….with no running experience and at a starting weight of about 275. I have been married for nearly 30 years. I am a skilled learner and an avid reader…but I am incapable and tenacious. I am merely unable. I never lost my music–I never found it to begin with! Mom, the church pianist, Mavis Beacon, and Spongebob have all failed in teaching me piano or typing, but not without trying. Mom typed at at least 80 words a minute on a mechanical typewriter and is such a natural pianist that she was never able to figure out why I wasn’t a natural in these things too. In the end, she gave up on the dream of me carrying that torch, but the music/art bug instead passed a generation to my three super-musical/artistic kids and a few more grandkids and others… and mom is thrilled. 🙂
Regardless of what the future holds, mom’s music will never be lost to me and to the many that have heard her play in person and on the internet at the cornbread table. Her songs have reverbed through churches, small concert halls, and nursing homes for decades. The stinking disease may take the music from our ear soon, but it will never take it from our memories nor from our hearts.
#EndALZ
