A couple of weeks before Mom died she and I were in her kitchen talking about her favorite music. We were cracking up, making fun of the dudes we were attracted to in our teens.
She mentioned a couple of 50s singers who were dreamy in her teenage imagination, guys that I had always thought of as has beens. I think I mentioned Andy Gibb. 🙂
That night I went home and sent her a couple of CDs from Amazon.com and she was delighted. Surprised and delighted. I noticed the discs being used regularly over the next week or two. And those CDs came in handy later.
A couple of weeks later Mom and I were, again, hanging out in her kitchen, feeling kind of maudlin and sad and wanting to connect. Now we knew there was cancer. Now we had a glimpse of serious days ahead. I selected a song from one of her CDs, one of the popular tunes of her dreamy guy, and we danced together. When the tune was over Mom said, Wait, there's another one I want to dance to, number 24 on disc 3. This was a real fan's fan song, mostly unknown to the general sockhoppers.
We hugged and twirled in her country crafty dining room, darkened room, Mom's head laying on my shoulder.
Move forward a couple of weeks. The other day I was in the kitchen playing some of Mom's CDs that I'd brought home after she died. When track 24 from disc 3 came on I found myself staring out the window, thinking of that golden moment.
Elizabeth walked into the kitchen just then, noticed my silence, and asked me what was up.
I explained to her how the song was affecting me and why. She stepped up, restarted the song, and opened her arms for a dance...a beatific smile on her face...changed the whole song for me.
My head fit just right on her shoulder.
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