Mom’s puppy’s paws playing piano
Thanksgiving was a whirlwind of planes, trains, and automobiles for Michelle and Me. Comically chaotic at times (actually, I lost my cool more than once). On our way to see Mom, we were set back with an overnight delay in Denver (the silver lining: an impromptu and festive night with Cortland kin, Johnny and his wife). We were a day late and lost the chance to have Thanksgiving with Connie. But instead, we set up Dad’s Christmas tree and decorated the house for the holidays. Our Friends filled our table with all the makings of a great meal, and we were able to enjoy it with my brother Jake and his family, my dad, and more friends who are family. The whole 3-day weekend was way too short. The words below are kind of a play-by-play of our time with Mom:
Friday we finally got to visit her at Cayuga Rehab. She was seated at lunch with a happy crew of other residents. She was already full of smiles and social grace before she even saw us. Then tears of joy recognizing us. Lots of hugs and kisses and laughter.
We moved to our own table. I helped her construct perfect bite after perfect bite onto her fork (a little bit of this and that to combine the best flavors). She ate almost the whole plate.
After lunch, I casually asked if she wanted to play the piano sitting in the dining room, and she said YES! She said it almost as casually as I had asked.
I kept making the reference to Charlie Brown Christmas where Lucy asks Schroeder, “can you play Jingle Bells?” and he plays all these classical and jazzy variations, and she keeps being like, “no no, like jingle bells and deck them halls and all that stuff,” until he finally begrudgingly just plunks out the most basic melody, and she’s like, “THAT’S IT!”
So that’s the variation I started with, the real simple Jingle Bells. But, and some of you will cringe to learn this about me, I’m not very good at the piano. I kept getting to the arpeggio down that finishes the song, and I kept getting it wrong, despite Mom’s knowing smile.
She reached over, met the song right in the middle, and finished the notes I couldn’t. We laughed! I cried actually.
Then we played it a few more times. I tried to play the Peanuts theme song, one Mom’s taught to dozens of piano students over the decades.
She had it in there, alright. But her left hand is a bit weaker and less coordinated. So I played the left hand, she played the right. There’s syncopation that requires teamwork. I don’t think I held up my part of the duet very well, but we made music for sure.
We took Mom back to her room. I played for her the video Ithaca College had made upon her retirement. *See post from September 5th if you want to re-watch. She was full of tears the whole time, seeing her old classroom and the students on stage at Smith Elementary. And then at the end, her former students speak directly to her like, “Mrs. Starmer, thank you for being such an inspiration…” Her reaction was so authentic. Those messages and memories got so deep under the fog and frustration of having to relearn everything right now.
We tucked her in.
Saturday morning started with my brother heading to the emergency room in Cortland with an excruciating kidney stone. That was only like the 5th wrench we’d been thrown this weekend alone. He’s good now, and we handled it because at this point our family can handle anything. But it meant I had to go see Mom on my own.
When we were there the day before, I sorted out with the front desk at Cayuga what we needed to do to be able to bring Mom’s little doggies in to visit her (she hasn’t seen them since August). A quick phone call to the vet, and I had all the paperwork we need to bring four-legged visitors.
So on Saturday, I bundled up Willa, one of her two puppies, and we drove to Ithaca. I signed us both in, and we pranced down the hallway to find Mom. The moment they reunited was another just unbelievable wave of emotional catharsis, recognition, joy, tears. I don’t have the poetics to really recount it properly. Mom’s heart with completely full. Her son and her puppy.
Mom reunited with Willa
I also brought her one of her porcelain houses from a holiday village collection she usually puts up this time of year. She remembered it fondly. She said it reminded her of one of the houses she and Dad lived in long ago. And she remembered the names of two of her kittens they used to have. Amazing how nostalgia can dig deep in the cognitive trenches, no matter where you’re at.
The three of us ate lunch together. Willa, the dog, attracted a ton of attention from the other residents. More like she radiated happiness and twinkled it around like it was an endless fountain of magic sparkles. Lots of joy wherever we were.
Mom is really sweet with the other residents. The people there are a wide range of ages and abilities. She doesn’t look around and see geriatrics or health conditions. She greets everyone with genuine kindness and words. For her, being in a nursing rehab isn’t a depressing reminder of her own state of being. I’ve been reading a book on strokes, and loss of ego and judgement is one thing that can occur. More on that book later.
Okay, so we finished another lunch. Mom chowed pretty much the whole plate again. Again, I suggested the piano, and again no hesitation.
The dining room was empty. I wheeled her up, and this time she reached for the different books on top of the upright. There was Mozart and some other canonic classical composers. But there was also a thick book of Christmas songs, probably 100 different songs from church songs to Frosty the Snowman and everything in between.
She flipped to the table of contents, and we picked out the first one. I don’t even know what it was, honestly, because I was flabbergasted that she just got right to it. She was instantly sight reading the melodies and sight reading the words written below as she sang along. Both hemispheres of the brain working in concert. Two hands and a voice. And I just sang along. We sang every word together.
Then she joined in her left hand. I mentioned before, the pinky and ring on her left side isn’t coordinated at this time, but she had the clever wherewithal to modify to play the root bass note with one finger when she had to.
Now I can show you the full picture that was cropped from the main picture above:
Mom and puppy. Three hands on the piano.
She played two handed. She sight read. She remembered how to follow all the codas. There were accidentals and black keys and modulations. Sure, she was playing the standard Christmas songs that we all have semi-stored for annual recall. But it was something special. And festive, given the time of year!
I think we played for like 30 minutes before Willa and I took her back to the room. She was tuckered out again. I helped her into bed. She snuggled the doggie for a while more before I turned the lights low. And Willa and I left.
My heart is pretty heavy that I can’t go do this with her every day right now. I know my presence is especially powerful. She and I share music in a very special way. And I know I have some of the keys that can unlock her cognition and memory, her inspiration and her motivation. Not that my dad doesn’t have all of the love and comfort she could ever want. And I’m not insinuating that her friends and visitors don’t bring her endless positivity and memories and courage. They’re all so important for her right now. And I’m certainly not saying that the care team isn’t doing everything tried and true. But Mom would be the first to tell you about the special kinship between a mother and her kids. I was so grateful for every short second with her last weekend.
I’m working and plotting how to be able to be there more soon. Not sure if it’s in the super near term, or as the horizons start to clear into focus, or soon as in this coming summer, but I know I will be a bigger part of this journey for her.
Before I wrap, and thanks for always reading this far down, I know it gets meandering. And honestly I’m sugar coating over some of the loops and deficits that she’s certainly experiencing, but those are all temporary. I just want to share a book I’m listening to right now. It’s called “My Stroke of Insight” by Jill Bolte Taylor. The author is a brain scientist who experienced a stroke. The book is an anecdote straight from the source of a person who recovered from a massive brain injury, and it’s written through her scientific lens of what happened. It’s helped me understand a few things in a new light. It’s helped me have more empathy, vocabulary, and wonder of how this all can be.
If you don’t have the time to read the book, give her TED talk a watch.
Thanks everyone. Talk soon.
Luka.
PS I have an idea brewing up my sleeve (how’s that for a mixed metaphor). I’ll compose it soon. I’ll be asking for all of your help and collaboration.