Do You Hear What I Hear?

This past Wednesday, I went to visit Mom at the nursing home, arriving unannounced as usual, and found her sitting in the hallway, brother Jerry standing behind her, waiting for the staff to open the cafeteria doors to begin the Brian Center's Christmas party. . . . Once inside and settled at a table, I heard her softly singing alto to the Christmas songs sung by a guitar man over in the corner. And of course I thought about all the years I listened to her sing with her sister Ernestine Plemmons, probably the most lovely harmonies I've ever heard. A person or two there at the party remembered the singing of that Reeves sisters duo as well. . . . When the party was over, we lingered a bit, letting the crowd of wheelchairs and walkers thin, and as my cousin Joey Plemmons and I began to roll Mom out, she asked us to take her to the piano that stood in another corner. Thrilled to do so, I rolled her over and Joe and I moved the piano and other clutter enough to maneuver her to the keyboard. She played a little, mostly with her left hand, unable to do much with her right anymore. She really wanted to play, I could tell that, but in a few minutes she was ready to leave. . . . Back in her room, she told me that Ernie had given her a Christmas CD to listen to and that some of it was so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes. And so I thought about all those years when she sat at pianos at home and at church, all the music that inhabited her and, through her, all of us around her. I was grateful for what she passed on to me--although I wish she'd have passed on her piano skills as well--and shuddered to think of one day not being able to play my guitar or flute. . . . But then I took to heart what she said about the Christmas CD and the way music moves us, and I knew that I would be all right. In Nature, Emerson writes of being in the woods, "There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, -- no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair." He doesn't mention his hearing, but I think I might, in the end, need hearing over sight, so that I could still hear the music--music of all kinds--in life.