I visited an elderly lady tonight. She was a tiny woman with big shining eyes. She wore a studded bandana--perhaps a gift from a grandchild, perhaps the product of a unique fashion sense. Her daughter was in the hallway, saying good-bye to a couple of visitors. My guide John told her why we were there. She was very friendly, but dementia prevented her from fully appreciating the situation. She wanted her daughter to come in. She wanted her by her side.
"Mama, the violinist is going to play you a song," the daughter said gently as she led the woman to her bed. "What would you like her to play?"
"Oh, 'Bring Love Back,'" she replied. "Mmmhmm, 'Bring Love Back.'"
The daughter and I exchanged a confused look. "How does that one go, ma'am?" I asked. She didn't hear me. She was busy looking for a spot on the bed where she wanted to sit down. "How does it go, Mama? Do you want to sing it for us?"
"Bring love back...bring love back..." she sang in a soft voice, almost like a whisper. "Back to the world..." Her daughter smiled at me, her lips quivered slightly. "She's making her own song. Aren't you, Mama?"
"Back to the world...every morning...bring love back..." her voice began to fade as she lay back, those brilliant eyes searching for something in the room. Tears started rolling down the cheeks of her daughter. I picked up where she left off and played her song again, the voice of the violin filling the room with unsung lyrics. The daughter closed her eyes and prayed in silence, her lips moving with each passing note. The elderly woman nodded with satisfaction as she listened to her song.
"Mmhmm," she said as the song came to an end. "Just bring love back."
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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