|Ronnie, Leroy, and Jim Fisher|
I was out walking my dog and the wind howled through the trees, making my face sting. The temperature hovered at freezing and the wind chill, well, was downright frosty. I cinched my hood on my coat to keep the wind out of my ears, put on my gloves, and shivered.
The wind made me think of a song I’d been attempting to play on my ukulele: “The Wayward Wind.” In turn, the lyrics made me think of Jim. I don’t know whether he was actually born to wander or whether he acquired “white line fever” throughout his childhood.
Until I met Jim, I never in my life knew anyone who had travelled as much as he did or lived in as many different places. Or in such strange places for that matter: “We lived under that tree” or “We lived under that bridge.” I would have thought he was making it up, but other family members told the same stories.
Jim was happiest when he was on a road trip. I guess it would only naturally follow that when he developed dementia, he was a wanderer. It required constant vigilance to keep track of him. He would be out the door and down the road in a flash. He was restless and relentless in his pursuit of being where he wasn’t.
When Jim’s wandering made him too much of a challenge for his mom, my mom, and the hired caregivers, I had a short experience with adult day care. Jim took his guitar and amused himself by playing and singing—the same song over and over. I suppose the only ones who really appreciated it were the folks with short-term memory problems that didn’t remember it was the same song he’d just finished.
Day care only lasted a couple of weeks. The day they had to track him down and found him on the highway, carrying his guitar, and headed toward home, they told me they couldn’t keep him anymore. It didn’t surprise me that even though he’d had enough of that place, he didn’t leave his guitar behind. His love of music remained in his heart long after it slipped his mind.
The past seven days have been hard on the music industry. Della Reese and Mel Tillis died. Sadly, Malcolm Young, AC/DC died from complications of dementia, and David Cassidy, Partridge Family, who also has dementia, is in critical condition with major organ failure. Famous musicians leave a legacy of songs. No matter how long they are gone, their songs speak to the hearts of their fans.
A song can express heart emotions for us that we cannot express otherwise. Music provides a direct link to our strongest memories. My mother sings a song she refers to as “Jim’s song.” When Jim sang “The Way I Am,” he sang it from his heart. One thing I can say for Jim is that he never pretended to be anything other than what he was.
Jim was happiest when he was playing music with his uncles, or cousins. He often referred to these jam sessions as “picking and grinning.” It didn’t matter to him if he was playing his guitar, a mandolin, a banjo, or a fiddle. If an instrument had strings, he played it.
Jim loved the traditional gospel songs. I will never hear “Lord, Build Me a Cabin in Gloryland” or “Old Country Church” without thinking of Jim. We went to a country music show in Branson where several people played and sang old gospel songs in the lobby prior to the evening’s extravaganza. Jim was already having trouble speaking by then, but he sang every word with them.
Sunday at church, the minister asked us to join him in singing “Jesus Loves Me.” I fought back the tears and sang along. When Jim was having a really bad day and I was trying to get him to sleep, I sometimes sang “Jesus Loves Me” to him because I knew he would remember that song. His lips moved and he mouthed the words soundlessly, and I think he found comfort. It was one of his heart songs, and because of it, he was able to travel in his mind to a simpler time and a place far, far away.
Copyright © November 2017 by L.S. Fisher