Music is my mother’s memory. She was a pianist. When I was a teenager, she went back to school to get her masters in piano. She was always teaching and playing piano and singing in the choir at church on Sundays.
Last weekend my sister, my niece, and I drove up to Mississippi to visit her. She recognized us as people she loved dearly. Her conversations were choppy, a thought would begin but derail before she could finish the sentence. But music is still her love language.
Watching the LSU game together in the hotel lobby, we started “bom, bom, ba-bom, ba” the tune for the fight song and she joyfully joined in. At church she popped up from sitting to sing the service music in perfect tune. My sister played a song she knew Mom loved on the radio, so we could all sing along.
NPR did a report recently about a son who plays the guitar and sings for his mother with Alzheimer’s. (A four-minute listen at this link.) My brother is a musician. He plays keyboards with a band, with another artist, or alone. He makes sure Mom gets to as many gigs as she can, especially the ones he does in senior living facilities.
I was a little wary of my visit this time because my brother had reported that she is worse (She had a bout of Covid a month ago.), but her light is still there. It comes on when she hears familiar music. It shines when she sees my face. My sister and I are baffled by how one minute our mother seems far away, out of touch with the world. And the next she will say something completely logical and true. We are blessed that our mother is getting good care, and she is mostly happy. I admit to tearing up, though, when she was singing. It was then that I saw the person I long for, the one I miss.
I follow storytellersgallery on Instagram. He posts a photo and poem daily. This one spoke to me.
Already Gone.
i wish i could understand
how you feel
i wish i could feel
what you’re missing herei always feel like we’re doing okay
that no matter what
i know it could be worsebut i’m getting the idea
Brian Fuller
that maybe you don’t agree
i think you know i would give you
anything and everything
but i’m learning that maybe
that’s not enough
and maybe that’s why
it feels like you’re already gone
bfullerfoto.com
Kosse, TX
May 2020
Reflections on the Teche 
So painful, and yet so beautiful that music is the thing that wakes the brain—I have seen documentary pieces on this, and see evidence of the impact of music (and poetry) on the very young and the very old (and all of us in between).
Margaret, thank you for sharing your heart here. It is so poignant and beautiful. Your mom still speaking her love language of music, but gradually going is so very difficult. That poem speaks so much truth for you and others going through what you are going through. Thank you for sharing Brian’s page. I followed the storytellersgallery.
Margaret, this is so heartfelt. I think music is indeed a universal language, tying past, present and future together. Heaven will be singing with the angels, so it comes as no surprise that this art is the conduit into the next. I hear you clearly here, this space of already gone – – the transition into the heavenly home. My mother did this too, one foot here and one foot there. Although I know there is no way to prepare for the finality of time here, there is something incredibly relaxing about still seeing the light here as you describe, but knowing that there will be light, too, in the next chapter where we are all together again. Beautiful and melodic today, and I love the image of the piano.
Thanks for your comforting message. My mother was a pianist.
You share many different ways your family interacts with your mother with music, with love. These examples make the piece for me. You write honestly about a stage of life that many will experience- their family or themselves. I especially love your line about your mother popping up at church to sing. And your end line is beautiful and true.
I’m glad your mom still has music, and that through music, you still have the mom you know. When my mom was in ICU and in horrible pain, it was singing along to the music I collected for her 80th birthday that calmed and soothed her.
Thanks for sharing this. Music is healing.
Thank you for sharing and giving me a great idea to use with my mom, as well. We have coffee chats over the phone across the miles…now I can add listening to a song together. She, too, was a pianist/organist. 🙂
Margaret, your post is so touching. Thank you for the podcast, blog, and poem. I watched my mother go in and out before she passed away. Then, her youngest brother developed demetia and just passed on at 95. It is difficult to think that a family member does not remember but ours was a reality. I loved the story that your mother stood up in church to sing. May the Lord bless her. I hope your recovery is coming along now that you are back with your beloved students. I shared the 3 children’s poems on my Slice of Life post. Many thanks for sharing their poetic goodness.
Thanks for letting me know.