When the Music Stops...

Originally Published December 29, 2022

I didn't notice at first. Actually, I didn't notice for quite some time. Or maybe I did. I just didn't want to make the connection. The music had stopped.

For years my Mom loved to listen to the radio and play her CDs. Some of her favourites were Rita MacNeil and Johnny Reid. There was a time when you always heard the radio or the music when you walked through the door.

The music stopped months ago, yet on this particular day, I noticed. All of a sudden my Mom's place was quiet. Very quiet. At first, I didn't think too much, until I felt loneliness was moving in. Still, I said nothing.

Eventually, loneliness found a regular seat on my Mom's couch, so I asked. Why don't you have the radio on today? There was talk of too many ads, bad news, and "junk - who wants to listen to that?" Being someone who streams my own music, at that moment I rather agreed and let it be.

More months passed. Silence became the new norm, and loneliness a permanent resident.

This day I arrive with a plan. If we're not listening to the radio, let's listen to a CD. I look for Rita MacNeil and say, "It's an old favourite", to remind her. As I turn on the machine, load the CD, and use the remote to hit "play", my Mom says, "I don't know how to work that anymore. I can't work the radio either."

There it is. This is how the music stopped. When dementia robbed my Mom of the ability to remember what buttons to push, how to insert a CD, or adjust the volume. When dementia robbed my Mom of her confidence and ability to ask for help. When dementia invited not only loneliness to live with my Mom but also shame and embarrassment. There was a time she would have confidently told me there was "something wrong with the machine" and asked me for help. Not now.

There is a delicate balance between supporting and maintaining my Mom's dignity and grace. I can no longer just show my Mom how to do things. Sometimes it is written notes, coloured stickers on buttons, and creative solutions. Sometimes it's simply saying, "That's okay Mom. You don't need to worry about that today." It is always being patient enough to meet her where she's at on any given day and allowing her to lead me to what she needs and how she needs it. Somedays this is hard, yet when I take this approach I am always reminded of how much I love her. With this, our time together is always better, and my heart is full.

It's now set up so it is easy for her to turn on the music. Now when I arrive, I hear it as I come through the door. It is very loud - but it is on. Music is bringing some joy back into my Mom's home and her heart. With a sense of pride and a smile on her face, my Mom will tell me "I know how to put the music on". It might look different now, but she is affirming for herself and to me, that she can still remember. That she is still capable. That she can still "do".

My Mom is fighting, every single day, to affirm this. That she can remember. That she is capable and that she can still "do". Until she can't. And then, once again, the music will stop.

Yet for today, the music is playing. I am grateful.

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About the author:

Karen Hendrickson is an Elevation Coach, focused on helping others to rewrite their life story, befriend their mortality, and find the richness and magic that lives at the intersection of our lives where life and death meet. When we allow our authentic self permission to shine our life becomes full of MAGIC and GREATNESS.  Contact karenttjourney@gmail.com and start working with her today!