My sisters and I travelled down to Oceanside this past weekend, to celebrate my aunt's birthday. My aunt is spending the end of her life with Alzheimer's and doesn't totally know us anymore. "You remind me so much of yourself," she said to me one morning, which I think illuminates the enigma of her situation pretty well.
We have all been pretty close to my aunt in one way or another over the years, and it can be hard to accept that that sense of connection will grow more and more unsided. But one of the things that comforts me in all this is that my aunt's memory for music remains unimpaired. She has always had a gift and sensitivity for music and I am glad that it continues to give her so much pleasure. During our visit to her church, I was surprised to find her perfectly able to hum along to a not exactly simple Chopin etude that was being played on a piano. It reminds me that she is still there, though, she, and we now see through a glass darkly.
We have all been pretty close to my aunt in one way or another over the years, and it can be hard to accept that that sense of connection will grow more and more unsided. But one of the things that comforts me in all this is that my aunt's memory for music remains unimpaired. She has always had a gift and sensitivity for music and I am glad that it continues to give her so much pleasure. During our visit to her church, I was surprised to find her perfectly able to hum along to a not exactly simple Chopin etude that was being played on a piano. It reminds me that she is still there, though, she, and we now see through a glass darkly.
Seana, I love this and glad you shared it. It seems like, as your Aunt loses memories, you are documenting beautiful ones like this for her. - Janet
ReplyDeleteThanks for taking time to read and comment here, Janet. I thought you might be able to relate to the bittersweet experience of it all.
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