A Mother’s Day Story
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By member @Doctor Alan
'There’s no point!'
'You OWE her – WE owe her!'
'She doesn’t even know us!'
'Look. She never got on with Sarah anyway.'
'Well, I’m going to do something anyway. She’s still our Mum, whether she remembers us or not!'
It was an argument that seemed to have been on ‘replay’ every Christmas and birthday since Mum had been taken to Shady Palms. Me pleading, Bob arguing, Sarah taking Bob’s side whenever she could.
This time, though, I felt it was different. It was quite close to Mum’s 90th, and I was very conscious of her not being around much longer. Shady Palms was a hard decision to make, but when she’d used several days' worth of her medication in one day, we realised she needed full-time help.
With or without Bob and his wife Sarah, I decided to do some organising off my own bat. Then, if Bob wanted to join in, he would be welcome. I started making some phone calls…
I was quite lucky, really. Ever since the sad loss of my own wife, I’d been at a sort of loose end, and I’d kept contact with a lot of artistic friends I’d had from years ago when I had a go at ‘treading the boards’. I read somewhere that for Alzheimer’s sufferers, music was a very good panacea, and this was the crux of my idea for Mum. I had some time on hand, so I could also ‘have another go’ at Bob and Sarah.
I’d call on Mum at least once a week, taking photo albums and diaries she’d written years ago. I’d always get 'Who are you? What do you want!’ Then 'NURSE!, NURSE!'. I’d sit patiently while the nurse would calm her down and say something like: 'This nice man has come to talk to you, that’s all.' I usually found that the pictures helped a lot, to start with. Every now and then, there’d be a spark of recognition in her eyes. I’d read through her diaries and once in a while she’d argue about some instance that 'wasn’t like that'. At the end of about an hour, she’d start to get a bit agitated, and I knew it was time to leave. It was worth the effort, though, for those rare glimpses of how she used to be.
The Shady Palms people were quite supportive, and we were very lucky to have the dais and performing area available to us. They even chipped in some of their money to help.
As luck would have it, I’d met an old chap – Alfred - in one of my plays, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Bing Crosby – a favourite of my Mum’s from way back. He and I were in a musical, and I found that not only did he resemble Bing Crosby, but his mellow voice was incredibly similar! I gave him a call, telling him about my mother and what I hoped to achieve, and he said he was only too happy to take part.
I was quite lucky, really. Mum had kept a very detailed diary for years until she ‘started to change’. I would read parts out to her and increasingly, she really didn’t remember the ‘good old days’ she’d described. I decided to try to find as many of her old friends as I could.
Mum’s big day arrived – the second Sunday in May, of course. I arrived early and kept my fingers very tightly crossed that my friend Alfred wouldn’t let me down. All the aged residents started filing into the dining room as it got closer to six o’clock, some commenting on why the floor had been cleared near the piano, meaning their tables were a bit more ‘compact’ than usual. With older people, sometimes it’s not a good idea to introduce any changes at all! Also, they noticed the piano had been set up with a microphone over it. I heard a few people murmuring about a ‘show’ they assumed would be on.
They all tackled their chicken schnitzel meal with the dead silence that usually accompanies meal times. I always wondered about that during previous visits. I assumed that they simply wanted to enjoy their meal and would lose themselves in their own thoughts. My mother appeared at the door, and I stayed close as the attendant nurse guided her to her seat. She looked straight at me at one point, and I was sure for a second that she was going to start shouting, but she was apparently too interested in her meal. I kept out of the way until they were all just finishing their dessert. A number of other people turned up at the door, and I realised they were my mother’s friends from way back. I introduced myself to them all, and we talked very quietly while we waited for the meal to be finished. I hadn’t noticed anybody else coming in during the quiet meal, but suddenly the melodic strains of the baby grand piano floated across the dining area – it was Alfred, and he opened his repertoire with ‘In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening'. He’d brought a female companion with him, and they sang in perfect harmony!
The residents had suddenly stopped eating, and I saw several of them actually singing along. What pleased me most, though, was that Mum’s lips were also moving to the words of the song she’d remembered. I gave Alfred a wave at the end of the song and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to him across the room. He said into the microphone: 'Now I have a special song for a special mother: Samantha Simmonds', and he launched straight into 'I Love You Samantha'. It was a beautiful song and such a tribute to my mother. I turned to see her face, and her cheeks were glistening as tears rolled from her eyes. Across the other side of the room, I noticed two familiar figures – Bob and Sarah! They’d decided to come after all! They seemed to be in absolute awe at what they were experiencing. I was pleased to see.
I looked around at all the delighted faces of these residents, and there seemed to be hardly a dry eye in the place. Some folks hadn’t finished their dessert, but it seemed to be forgotten as they sat mesmerised by the music which, to them, awakened so many memories. The young lady with Alfred sang another duet with him: 'Don’t Fence Me In', and in this song, everybody in the whole dining area, as well as the staff, sang along with it. It was really wonderful to hear. I walked over and stood by my mother, and Bob and Sarah stood on the other side of her chair. She looked up at us, not with that haunted and frightened look, but with tears in her eyes and the gratitude so evident. I heard her say my name as she looked at me, and then at Bob. The years simply seemed to fall away, and I could see the lovely Mum she always was to us. Her friends gathered around her then, and I could see her chatting ten-to-the-dozen with them all! She looked deliriously happy! A lot of the fitter residents got up to dance with one another or simply by themselves, moving rhythmically to the well-remembered songs Alfred was playing so expertly on the piano.
All things come to an end, and this wonderful evening was no exception. It had changed things, though. Bob and Sarah were suddenly aware of the person they’d been ignoring, and I decided that when I next visited my wonderful Mum, I would bring with me a CD player loaded with a selection of many songs from her generation.
It truly was a Mother’s Day to remember – for all of us!
From the Editor:
A huge thank you to member @Doctor Alan for sharing this original story in honour of Mother’s Day!
Image Credit: Shutterstock
'There’s no point!'
'You OWE her – WE owe her!'
'She doesn’t even know us!'
'Look. She never got on with Sarah anyway.'
'Well, I’m going to do something anyway. She’s still our Mum, whether she remembers us or not!'
It was an argument that seemed to have been on ‘replay’ every Christmas and birthday since Mum had been taken to Shady Palms. Me pleading, Bob arguing, Sarah taking Bob’s side whenever she could.
This time, though, I felt it was different. It was quite close to Mum’s 90th, and I was very conscious of her not being around much longer. Shady Palms was a hard decision to make, but when she’d used several days' worth of her medication in one day, we realised she needed full-time help.
With or without Bob and his wife Sarah, I decided to do some organising off my own bat. Then, if Bob wanted to join in, he would be welcome. I started making some phone calls…
I was quite lucky, really. Ever since the sad loss of my own wife, I’d been at a sort of loose end, and I’d kept contact with a lot of artistic friends I’d had from years ago when I had a go at ‘treading the boards’. I read somewhere that for Alzheimer’s sufferers, music was a very good panacea, and this was the crux of my idea for Mum. I had some time on hand, so I could also ‘have another go’ at Bob and Sarah.
I’d call on Mum at least once a week, taking photo albums and diaries she’d written years ago. I’d always get 'Who are you? What do you want!’ Then 'NURSE!, NURSE!'. I’d sit patiently while the nurse would calm her down and say something like: 'This nice man has come to talk to you, that’s all.' I usually found that the pictures helped a lot, to start with. Every now and then, there’d be a spark of recognition in her eyes. I’d read through her diaries and once in a while she’d argue about some instance that 'wasn’t like that'. At the end of about an hour, she’d start to get a bit agitated, and I knew it was time to leave. It was worth the effort, though, for those rare glimpses of how she used to be.
The Shady Palms people were quite supportive, and we were very lucky to have the dais and performing area available to us. They even chipped in some of their money to help.
As luck would have it, I’d met an old chap – Alfred - in one of my plays, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Bing Crosby – a favourite of my Mum’s from way back. He and I were in a musical, and I found that not only did he resemble Bing Crosby, but his mellow voice was incredibly similar! I gave him a call, telling him about my mother and what I hoped to achieve, and he said he was only too happy to take part.
I was quite lucky, really. Mum had kept a very detailed diary for years until she ‘started to change’. I would read parts out to her and increasingly, she really didn’t remember the ‘good old days’ she’d described. I decided to try to find as many of her old friends as I could.
Mum’s big day arrived – the second Sunday in May, of course. I arrived early and kept my fingers very tightly crossed that my friend Alfred wouldn’t let me down. All the aged residents started filing into the dining room as it got closer to six o’clock, some commenting on why the floor had been cleared near the piano, meaning their tables were a bit more ‘compact’ than usual. With older people, sometimes it’s not a good idea to introduce any changes at all! Also, they noticed the piano had been set up with a microphone over it. I heard a few people murmuring about a ‘show’ they assumed would be on.
They all tackled their chicken schnitzel meal with the dead silence that usually accompanies meal times. I always wondered about that during previous visits. I assumed that they simply wanted to enjoy their meal and would lose themselves in their own thoughts. My mother appeared at the door, and I stayed close as the attendant nurse guided her to her seat. She looked straight at me at one point, and I was sure for a second that she was going to start shouting, but she was apparently too interested in her meal. I kept out of the way until they were all just finishing their dessert. A number of other people turned up at the door, and I realised they were my mother’s friends from way back. I introduced myself to them all, and we talked very quietly while we waited for the meal to be finished. I hadn’t noticed anybody else coming in during the quiet meal, but suddenly the melodic strains of the baby grand piano floated across the dining area – it was Alfred, and he opened his repertoire with ‘In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening'. He’d brought a female companion with him, and they sang in perfect harmony!
The residents had suddenly stopped eating, and I saw several of them actually singing along. What pleased me most, though, was that Mum’s lips were also moving to the words of the song she’d remembered. I gave Alfred a wave at the end of the song and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to him across the room. He said into the microphone: 'Now I have a special song for a special mother: Samantha Simmonds', and he launched straight into 'I Love You Samantha'. It was a beautiful song and such a tribute to my mother. I turned to see her face, and her cheeks were glistening as tears rolled from her eyes. Across the other side of the room, I noticed two familiar figures – Bob and Sarah! They’d decided to come after all! They seemed to be in absolute awe at what they were experiencing. I was pleased to see.
I looked around at all the delighted faces of these residents, and there seemed to be hardly a dry eye in the place. Some folks hadn’t finished their dessert, but it seemed to be forgotten as they sat mesmerised by the music which, to them, awakened so many memories. The young lady with Alfred sang another duet with him: 'Don’t Fence Me In', and in this song, everybody in the whole dining area, as well as the staff, sang along with it. It was really wonderful to hear. I walked over and stood by my mother, and Bob and Sarah stood on the other side of her chair. She looked up at us, not with that haunted and frightened look, but with tears in her eyes and the gratitude so evident. I heard her say my name as she looked at me, and then at Bob. The years simply seemed to fall away, and I could see the lovely Mum she always was to us. Her friends gathered around her then, and I could see her chatting ten-to-the-dozen with them all! She looked deliriously happy! A lot of the fitter residents got up to dance with one another or simply by themselves, moving rhythmically to the well-remembered songs Alfred was playing so expertly on the piano.
All things come to an end, and this wonderful evening was no exception. It had changed things, though. Bob and Sarah were suddenly aware of the person they’d been ignoring, and I decided that when I next visited my wonderful Mum, I would bring with me a CD player loaded with a selection of many songs from her generation.
It truly was a Mother’s Day to remember – for all of us!
From the Editor:
A huge thank you to member @Doctor Alan for sharing this original story in honour of Mother’s Day!
