Was I imagining things or did my ears catch the faintest strains of music? Nope, it was my imagination. Wait! There it was again. As I turned my head to search around me in the living and dining room areas, the sound disappeared. I glanced at the tv, even though I already knew it wasn’t on, and then held the discarded computer headphones to my ear to no avail. Staring at the telephone accusingly, as if the elusive sound was somehow humming through the wiring and occasionally escaping from the receiver or wall outlets, I finally decided I was mildly delusional, which didn’t seem too implausible. Giving up, I grabbed my coat and headed toward Mom’s bedroom in the attached apartment to let her know I was going to get the mail. Nearing her closed door I discovered the source of the phantom strains of music and paused for a moment to let a chuckle escape my throat and to rearrange my face into a “nothing is unusual” expression. Preparing myself for a blast of sound, I opened the door and stuck my head in to announce my intentions. Bracing myself against the force of the Big Band music that was dancing away, I had to repeat myself twice just to get Mom’s attention since she was sans hearing aide.
Once she detected my voice and made eye contact, she laughed a little sheepishly and told me she had turned on the cd to divert her mind from its “black thoughts.” Indeed, I had noticed before she was aware of me that, even though it was her shower day and already 10:00 a.m., she was still in her nightgown, sitting on the edge of her bed with her head down. I had thought for an instant that maybe she was dozing, but after she spoke I realized she must have been deep in thought instead.
The term “black thoughts” always makes me first think of evil thoughts, which is completely incongruous with my Mom, but she has used the term several times lately in reference to depressing thoughts. So I laughed with her and said that music always helps me feel more cheerful, too.
It saddens me that she has these moments and I know that they increase in occurrence as each birthday brings her closer to 100. She is so amazing for her 96 years, with a good mind and clear health, that those of us around her are sometimes lulled into the feeling that she might live forever. But time and arthritis are taking their toll and her mortality peeks through her tough exterior more and more often, distressing us both. Mom mourns the things she can no longer do and I mourn the eventuality of her not always being around to try.
I think it is okay to think about these things; to think about death, rue our mistakes and inabilities, and begrudge the weight of our crosses. Acknowledging our difficulties is necessary, but when we start to let them overshadow the positive, then enough is enough. Mom is right. Turn up the heat, turn up the volume, and start dancing to whatever toe-tapping beat lifts your spirits! Quit dwelling on what can’t be done and savor the joy of what can. Life may be different now, but it is certainly not over.
Once she detected my voice and made eye contact, she laughed a little sheepishly and told me she had turned on the cd to divert her mind from its “black thoughts.” Indeed, I had noticed before she was aware of me that, even though it was her shower day and already 10:00 a.m., she was still in her nightgown, sitting on the edge of her bed with her head down. I had thought for an instant that maybe she was dozing, but after she spoke I realized she must have been deep in thought instead.
The term “black thoughts” always makes me first think of evil thoughts, which is completely incongruous with my Mom, but she has used the term several times lately in reference to depressing thoughts. So I laughed with her and said that music always helps me feel more cheerful, too.
It saddens me that she has these moments and I know that they increase in occurrence as each birthday brings her closer to 100. She is so amazing for her 96 years, with a good mind and clear health, that those of us around her are sometimes lulled into the feeling that she might live forever. But time and arthritis are taking their toll and her mortality peeks through her tough exterior more and more often, distressing us both. Mom mourns the things she can no longer do and I mourn the eventuality of her not always being around to try.
I think it is okay to think about these things; to think about death, rue our mistakes and inabilities, and begrudge the weight of our crosses. Acknowledging our difficulties is necessary, but when we start to let them overshadow the positive, then enough is enough. Mom is right. Turn up the heat, turn up the volume, and start dancing to whatever toe-tapping beat lifts your spirits! Quit dwelling on what can’t be done and savor the joy of what can. Life may be different now, but it is certainly not over.
No comments:
Post a Comment