You can’t pour from an empty cup.
Her trapped toe tapped under the thick layers of sheets and blankets as the music started. With her eyes still closed, raspy sounds escaped weakly through her soft breath. No one would think she was singing. No one recognized the tune. No one could. The sound leaked out from her throat as if it was an old rusty pipe that no one bothered to turn off. Too old and a wrench would surely pop the fragile steel now nearly rusted throughout.
Ever since my mother made the decision to die on her own terms the days have been peaceful. Not full of sadness as one would expect. The day she demanded to end her torturous hospital stay was sad for us, her family. She thanked us–a lot. She reminded us of the bargain we made years ago–No wires, no tubes, or sitting in my own mess. Done.
On an FMLA from my teaching position, my days are spent with her now and I love them. Her comfort is top priority. My mother loved her life. Music was always apart of it. So everyday I flip through her CD collection, and ask her, “What will we listen to today?” Tango? La La Land? Tito Puente? ABBA?
“How about a little Neil Diamond today Mom?” She threw her head back and mouthed, oh yes.
“I am” …I said. The music poured out and filled the room and our hearts as we sang with Neil.
Fill the cup. Fill it with love. Fill it with lots of love.