As soon
as my brother learned I had an instrument, he invited me to practice with the
Capps Family Band. Playing with the band was a breakthrough moment for me. It
taught me to keep time and to keep up with the flow of the music. It was well
worth the long drive to spend time with family and learn how joyful jam
sessions are.
For
several years, the band played at nursing homes near where they live. I started
going to the nursing homes with them and sat in the back away from the mike as
I learned how to play. Eventually, my brother talked me into singing “Coal
Miner’s Daughter.”
Until
the pandemic, our family band entertained at three nursing homes each month.
After the nursing homes were on lockdown, we continued to practice twice a
month.
My
husband made a call to a local nursing home to ask if they wanted entertainment
thinking the Capps Family Band could play for the residents. During the course
of the conversation, he learned they didn’t have a sound system, which is a
requirement for the band to play. I took the phone and asked if they would like
me to play my ukulele and sing. I have a microphone and a Block Buster that is
lightweight and easy to transport. They immediately put me on the calendar for
two different dates, so I could play for residents on both sides of the
facility.
The day
came to play and as I sat in front of a large group of residents, I realized
that I was on my own. This was a first for me since I’ve always been a part of
the band. Other members of the band play music when I sing and provide vocal
backup. My part is usually two or three songs, and here I sat with an entire
play list with only my ukulele for accompaniment. Granted, I had upgraded from
the minnow to a soprano uke, but it was all the music I had.
Being
on my own in a new situation reminded me of how I was on my own as Jim forgot
how to do familiar tasks. I had to make all the decisions, as his uncle once
said, “You are thinking for two.”
Our
home became quieter and quieter when Jim began to lose his conversation skills.
Still, having him at home with me was comforting. Scheduling
someone to be with Jim while I worked became a challenge. Hired caregivers were
unreliable, but my family and Jim’s family stepped in to share the caregiving
load, but at night and on weekends—I was on my own.
When
Jim went into long-term care, being on my own was lonely and sometimes
terrifying. I worried about Jim constantly, and spent as much time as possible
with him. I visited him every day after work and on my days off. I took him for
drives, walks in the park, to DQ for lunch or ice cream, to Walmart, and
occasionally brought him home for the day. Like caregivers everywhere, I was
basically on my own.
So as I
sat in front of my audience, on my own, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t on my
own at all. Sitting in the first chair on my right side was a woman who had
always been one of our biggest fans at a nursing home where the band played. We
had missed her the last time, and thought the worse. It made my day to find her
alive and well! “When I saw it on the calendar,” she said, “I hoped it was
you.”
I was
not alone. I had the background of the band, who had been with me every step
along my journey of playing an instrument and singing. I had learned that I
didn’t have to be perfect, I just had to keep going when I made a mistake. My
brother tells us, “Keep singing. If you make a mistake, don’t point it out,
just keep going. Most people will never notice.”
I
relaxed, picked up my ukulele, and started singing. It was a great day to share
in the joy of music. They lifted my spirits, and judging by their smiles and
encouragement, I believe that I lifted theirs.
Copyright
© July 2022 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
#ENDALZ
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