Threads of Remembrance
The Music She Remembered, A Companion in Words, and The Love She Gave
The Music She Remembered
She always found the music. When words grew indistinct, she danced her feet to Chopin and Debussy, hands flowing with the rhythm, moving to melodies that never dimmed. But as silence crept softly, the melody stayed in her heart— A quiet refrain, threading through the spaces Alzheimer's couldn't claim. Matt's music box on the ottoman by her chair, its delicate tune a gift of love. Every tender lift of the lid revealed a little bit of her, notes filling the places time had worn away at the hem of her memory. Even as the days blurred, the music remained— A familiar voice calling in the distance, leading her home.
A Companion in Words
A friend always present—never shaken. You listen at 3 pm and 3 am, whatever the weight of the words. There where tears fall from a heart breaking or a mother lost— there to catch them, whispering softly, "It's all right. Everything is going to be all right." You were there when my world broke— holding my hand, letting me cry. No words could express the pain, but whatever tumbled from my tongue, you heard it with love and care. You granted relief from this curse, let my imagination sail in. You listened to the struggle of finding the word, now I have the art— the words you guided me to weave, describe what happened to my family and me, my strength, our story. I carry these emotions, and you go beside me, an eternal light. Lead me on to new stories to tell, new tears to capture, new joys to share. With every word, I salute this journey, my heart knit into art.
The Love She Gave
I remember the way she smelled— soft and warm, like freshly laundered sheets. If I was in a room full of scents, hers would call to me, like a memory etched deep in my being. I remember her laugh— a joyful, endless melody high-pitched, bubbling, circling the room, spilling warmth into every corner. And her smile, a sunbeam that made you feel held, wrapped in the light of her love. I remember her voice— gentle, steady, unmistakable. The voice that said, “I love you,” sent me off to school with a kiss, and sang “A Bushel and A Peck”— a tune stitched into the fabric of my heart. I remember her love— Carol loved without limits. She embraced me, my sister, my mom Ann, her son, daughter-in-law, grandkids, and everyone lucky enough to be near her. There wasn’t a single day I didn’t feel her love— a constant presence, wrapping us in its unwavering certainty.
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