Why Does a Leaf Beg to be Picked Up?
My mom picks up autumn leaves. She has collected hundreds of them. The pages of old hymnals are packed with them. Beautiful once, they are crumbled now. No longer are they colorful or flexible. They’ve become fragile, broken, and dull.
My mom is a bit like those leaves. She has dementia. What she once was, has faded, is substantially diminished. She is brittle in body and her mind is in pieces. Occasionally I see a bit of her past vibrancy in a spunky comment or a brief burst of her former music ability. Check her out here. If you stick with the video long enough you’ll see her hit a rough patch. I love it that she muddles through it, resolving the notes back to what she has buried deep within that brain of hers. I think she’s amazing. If you’re good, I’ll post a video of her playing the piano and playing the harmonica at the same time!
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