I’m thinking of the song “How can I Keep from Singing.” This week of Open Write at Ethical ELA, I can’t keep from writing. Writing about my mother, every day. I am visiting her for her birthday which was Sunday. She turned 87. We took her out to a local Asian restaurant where my brother, a professional musician, was playing. Family gathered around the table. I rocked baby June who was getting a little tired. We took a four generation photo. In all outward appearances, this was a wonderful celebration. In the video, my mother doesn’t take her eyes off of my brother as she sings along.
However, the true picture is one of a family slowly losing their matriarch to devastating Alzheimer’s disease. How can I keep from writing? How can we keep from singing? Music and singing, laughter and poetry bring me healing and bittersweet joy.
The Irony of Roles Reversed
I nursed three babies
while she watched
milk flow–mother nurture.She holds a baby doll
while I watch
tender rocking–daughter lost.She doesn’t call my name.
Margaret Simon, Sevenling (Prompt on Ethical ELA)
I have also set up a fundraising page for The Longest Day, a fundraising even for the Alzheimer’s Association. If you would like to consider a donation, my page is located at this link.
I cannot stop the disease from taking my mother, but I can do this one small thing to prayerfully hope that others do not have to experience this. My sister-in-law is making bracelets as thank you gifts for a donation of $50 or more. If you donate, email me your home address if you would like a bracelet pictured below.
Reflections on the Teche 
How beautiful. I love how you’ve painted a scene of celebration despite what’s happening behind the scenes. I hope this time is precious as you visit your mom. ❤️
Oh, Margaret. As you know, we are on similar paths with similar stories. My mom is not quite advanced as your mother, but I know each day we get closer and closer to losing her. The last line of your poem is such an emotional ending. The roles truly are reversed.
I am learning to ride the wave that I am on, to help her have a conversation with her dolls, to look out the window and wonder whose car is pulling up. Could it be her boyfriend? That’s what she calls my brother. I think she still knows my name but on this visit, she never actually called me by name. But my friend assures me (and I know this) she will love me forever. So that’s what we have…our love…forever.
I have lived through this, too, and my mom remains with me, even more as I age. The scene you paint, that beacon your brother provides—and the magic of music as glue, is heart-filling. So many of us have you in our thoughts.
Oh, Margaret, this is both beautiful and heart-piercingly sad. So poignant, and your poem captures so much. I’m so glad that writing brings you solace and that you and your mother are wrapped in the love of your family. My heart is with you.
Oh, Margaret, you are writing beautifully — I’m glad that you are following your urge to write. With your description of your mother’s birthday, you made me think of William Blake’s poem:
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine
(Between you and me, that’s the subject of IMPERFECT III)
I love this and am living it. I listened to Julia Louis Dreyfus’s interview with Carol Burnett who is 90. It’s a beautiful podcast, but I was struck with how Carol talked about how she has made it to 90. She’s been through highs and lows. That’s just the way life goes. A wonderful theme for a book.
Just so heartbreaking…and beautiful!
Beautiful and Heartfelt
Margaret, thanks for sharing so honestly and openly about your mother’s birthday celebration. So true that the photo captured only a part. I appreciate you trying to do what you can. You can write. You can make it easy for others to donate to find a cure. May these tasks provide you with some comfort while dealing with “She doesn’t call my name”.
I was on your path and treasure your honest and open thoughts about what you can do. You can write and you should document your journey. My heart is with your.
Oh Margaret, your photo of the four generations, your post, and poem are beautiful, poignant, and entwined with heartbreak. I am glad writing, singing, music, laughter, and family time bring you comfort and healing.
Hold your mother…
Also, if you need to, cry. I appreciate your honesty and trust in sharing your post. Sending hugs and prayers.