Down in the valley, the valley so low

I’ve written occasionally in this blog about my mother, especially these last couple of years as I sought to find a way to enter into the world of dementia that she inhabited. Music was always the connecting point for her and I often ended our FaceTime calls by singing “Down in the Valley.”

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

At first, she used to chime in with me, bringing in a harmony. I loved it. As time went by, I was more often singing solo. If I couldn’t get any conversation out of her, I’d sometimes play the piano and sing folk songs and hymns, or I’d get out the Gilbert and Sullivan songbook and tackle a few of our favorites from their operettas.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow.
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

She used to be a choir director and never lost her sense of rhythm and timing. If she couldn’t sing along, she’d “direct” me, her arms and hands moving with the music. Many times she’d say, “Very good!” or “Well done!” even when we both knew she could play the piano much better than I. 😊 But I could feel that wind blowing. I knew how this story was going to end – I just didn’t know when.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew.

After we all grew up and built our own lives, Mom would occasionally mourn the loss of feeling needed. While it’s true that adult children don’t need their mothers in the same way we do as children, there’s never a time when we don’t need them in some way. I told her that, but I’m not sure I convinced her.

Angels in heaven know I love you.

When I needed her enthusiasm, she always gave it. When I needed her encouragement, she always gave it. If I needed her sympathies, she had storehouses of it to pour over me. When I needed advice about some project I was working on, she always gave it and then some! When I asked her to contribute her musical expertise to our children’s homeschool experience, she came through. I could always count on her to be in my corner. All through my adult life, she corresponded with me, a special bond between the two of us who both loved to write. When I was in my 50’s I got kidney stones and found out why some people say the pain is worse than labor. While one of my sons went to the pharmacy to pick up the pain pills, I called my Mom. She picked up the phone, and I burst into tears and after an initial alarm from her (What? What’s going on?), she gave loving support and soothing words. No, you don’t outgrow your need for your mother.

Know I love you, dear, know I love you.
Angels in heaven know I love you.

She passed away a little over a week ago after a week of lingering. My siblings and I and some of our extended family spent as much time as we could at her bedside for the long goodbye. She wasn’t conscious, but we hoped she could hear as we talked and laughed, told “Mom stories,” held her hand, played some of her favorite music for her, kissed her and told her how much we loved her. And then she was gone. The wind blew right through that valley and our heads hung low, indeed.

Goodbye, Mom. Angels in heaven know I love you.

I don’t think I can delete this one…