My Mom's Story

They sat on the front porch that afternoon, like they do most days, taking in the breeze and the sun. I imagine my daughter was being her typical 2 year old chatterbox self. Then my mom started singing and remembering and feeling. She used to sing this song with my dad, I remember. Singing it now, alone, even after 3 years, is hard, but she does it anyway, to feel, to remember. And that afternoon, she was trying not to cry, but I guess the emotion was palpable, because she tells me my 2 year old daughter, who normally either sings along or dances when people sing around her, just watched her, with a serious and supportive look on her face as my mom sang, barely containing the emotion. When my mom was done, my daughter, who never met my dad or has any idea what that song means to my mom (well, maybe she does), gave her a big silent, consoling hug. That night, I asked my daughter what happened with her grandmother that day and she looked down sadly, with visible empathy. I asked her if abuelita was sad and she said yes. She knows. She feels. She gets it.

                      

That is the Spanish version of The Power of Love, a song I don't much care for, but obviously means a whole lot to my mom. It's easy to be a music snob sometimes, but I stories like this remind me that music, all music, means something to someone. I don't have anything more to add this week, as that moment between my mom and daughter says it all.