the rythym of grief

i never quite know how my mother is dealing with the death of my father, a month shy of their 69th wedding anniversary. between her daily doses of morphine and her reoccuring UTI's, and being 88 years old, her moods are chameleon-like. today, i came downstairs to find her in her bedroom listening to a cd of a jazz band that her and dad had heard at a local band concert. . 'it had to be you' had her in tears.

i remember accompanying her and dad to the walpole band concert a few summers ago and listening to this band. in fact, i bought them that cd, along with a tee shirt my dad wore of a cartoon cat playing a trombone. they both loved dixieland jazz.

i told mom today that i thought dad would have been a great musician. he loved the trumpet and the clarinet. could he sing? i never heard my father sing. mom laughed. "he couldn't carry a tune," she replied, "but he had great rythym."

mom shared a few memories of dad, back when they first met in the early 1940's, and then i offered to play rummy with her. her face brightened. "I beat the pants off of roxanne this morning," she said proudly. roxanne is her caregiver, who gets mom dressed each morning. they play a game or two each day. mom, like her mother before her, excels at rummy.

by the time we were engrossed in our game, the dixieland jazz cd had ended and mom's grief had subsided. for now.