There was this one moment…

I didn’t want to write about my recital. It was so perfect in my memory I didn’t want to touch it for fear my words might rewrite the experience. But there was this one moment, this one beautiful moment…

When I made it to the last movement, almost everyone in tears (including myself), I was waiting for my friends to join me on stage. I had asked some of them ahead of time if they could come up, but in the moment only two of them did. I looked up at the audience and felt this fear. What if no one else comes? We can’t end this piece with only three people!

So I took matters into my own hands…literally. I just went up to people with my hands outstretched, eyes pleading, please, please come with me, help me. And every single person did. Till I finally turned around and watched all of The Wild Beast occupants standing together, supporting each other, singing with me.

We heard my mom’s voice and I wished them “Be well.” And that moment…that moment is one of the single most powerful moments of human connection I have ever experienced.

My words can’t do it justice. Here is the link if you’re curious (this moment comes at the end): 7 Stages/Coping 

(If you do want to watch and want the program I think it’s helpful to following what’s going on so let me know!)

And the link to my dad’s reaction which was far more eloquently written than my own: May the Circle be Unbroken

P is for Picture, #AtoZChallenge

I wanted to explain the picture I used in my last post, O is for One Perfect Moment, #AtoZChallenge.

Goodbye

I went home for Christmas this winter thinking it would be the last time I saw my mom. My flight back to California was ridiculously early so I had to say goodbye the night before. I asked my dad to tell me when it was time to say goodnight and he let me know when Mom was finally ready to go to bed. I went to her and tried to stay really happy and positive, giving her a hug and saying goodnight. It was quick because I didn’t want to think too hard about the situation, but as soon as I left the room I realized I forgot to tell her I loved her.

I had to go back in, I knew I needed to tell her in person because it might be the last opportunity I got to do so. My sister came in after and while I was hugging my mom on one side, my dad hugged her on the other side and she took this perfect picture. In it we all have genuine smiles. We are holding onto each other and although the practical reason is we have to hold on to Mom to help her keep her balance, in the picture it just looks like a warm embrace (which it also was). When I look at the picture I can’t tell my mom has Alzheimer’s. I see happiness, love, family. That’s why I was inspired to write the poem that I did.

I don’t like to talk about perfection, because I think it’s generally an unobtainable and unrealistic goal. I see this picture though, and it really is one perfect moment.

Why is Christmas Special?

Last week, while teaching one my early childhood music classes one of my five-year olds turned to me and said, “Do you want to know why I love Christmas so much!?” I expected him to talk about presents or this “elf on a shelf” or something to that effect, but he followed up with, “Because we always go to Colorado to see my grandma and also because there’s snow there!” Another boy chimed in, “Want to know why Christmas is the best time of year? Because you get to be with all the family you don’t see a lot!”

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Happy Mother’s Day

I write a lot about my mom. Mostly because it helps me deal with her Alzheimer’s and sort my feelings out. The last story I shared, Missing Memories, was written before she got her official diagnosis. A lot has changed since then, so for mother’s day I wanted to write an updated tribute for my mom. Everything written in italics will be memories and everything written in plain text is what happened today. This helps compare the ways things have changed, but most importantly, the ways she’s stayed the same.

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