Mom's Magic Music

February 7 would have been my mother’s birthday, and cause for a big celebration in the Thomas family. But, like Glenn Frey and David Bowie, Christine didn’t make it to 80. She died at 78, in October 2014.

Mom would have been amused to be mentioned alongside those rock-and-roll legends, but she was a rock star in her own right. She had a beautiful alto voice, could harmonize to any tune and probably should have pursued a music career. In high school and college, she sang at weddings, dances and hometown ceremonies. Today, I know all the words to all the Christmas carols because of my mom.

Although it’s impossible to pinpoint exactly when it started, Alzheimer’s had Christine in its ruthless grip for at least a decade. One of the things that bothers me most when I let myself think about it is how alone and scared she must have felt at times in her confusion and frustration.

During this long, slow slide, I got really good at the personal-care aspects of meeting her everyday needs – tooth-brushing and hair-styling and lotion-slathering and such. But what I ended up doing best for Mom was driving and singing.

I’d pick her up from her apartment in memory care, whisk her into my little car, hit the freeway and crank up the tunes. I scoured truck stops and record-store bargain bins and amassed quite a collection of CDs, anything I could think of that we listened to when I was growing up. Most of it was country music – Eddy Arnold, Loretta Lynn, Johnny Horton, Patsy Cline, Buck Owens, Faron Young – but she also loved Elvis.

We’d cruise around for a couple of hours – to Mountain Home or even Ontario, or just around Boise – belting it out at the top of our lungs until we were hoarse. Even when her spoken sentences didn’t make much sense, she knew the song lyrics. When those left her, for a long time she could still hum the tunes.

In the last months, I did all the singing. But she beamed the whole time.

On Feb. 7, I’ll drive around and sing for a bit. It’s good for the soul.