Music—That is
the first thing that comes to mind when I think of mom. Growing up we had one of those stereos that
was also a piece of furniture; and either the radio was on, or more likely a
Johnny Mathis album.
Mom loved
music. She played the piano, and she was
a regular soloist at our church. Her
music came from her heart and was an expression of her love for life and for
her Lord.
And this love
for music rubbed off on all of her kids.
My earliest memories of my brothers and sisters were of going into their
rooms and looking through there albums, often making a mess of them I’m
afraid. Music always filled our house. My first concert, probably when I was 11 or
12, was when Mom and Dad took me to see Johnny Mathis.
On the British
TV show Doctor Who, The Doctor is explaining life to his companion, he says, “The
way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good
things don’t always soften the bad the bad things, but vise versa, the bad
things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant”
Mom’s pile of
bad things sometimes seemed large. She
broke her hip when I was in second grade; and then her back. She was paralyzed from the waist down for
awhile. These things would have brought many people down, but mom kept her mind
on her pile of good things—her family, her love for dad, her faith in God.
She lost her
son John to epilepsy, and her son David left a few years later, choosing to
sever family ties. Mom looked to her family that remained and a growing group
of grand kids and drew strength from them.
No matter how much stuff was piled on mom’s pile of bad things, she kept
her eyes on her pile of good things.
In recent
years, as her memories began to leave her, little things became important to
her. Every Sunday when I’d talk to her after she’d been to church, she seemed
to be a little better for the day, because the fellowship here added to her
pile of good things. A phone call from
one of her kids or grand kids, pictures from her brothers, these added to her
pile of good things.
This February
I had the chance to take mom to see Johnny Mathis in concert, returning the
favor from that first concert 35 years ago.
Mom told everyone around us that she was there for her birthday, even
though her birthday is in November. I
didn’t correct her; I let her have a great time on her birthday. She smiled and she sang along with almost
every song. Mom had a great night, and
this night added to my pile of good things.
I love you
momma. Thank you for the music.
