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| 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
#ENDALZ
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