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A Kind of Hush on my Heart
The duality of love, loss and music.
Thought it would be safe to put on the music I played for my mother the last time we were together. It wasn’t safe, not when Mum died at the end of March. Lock down and self isolation kicked in then; couldn’t ever see her again.
I didn’t expect playing the same music would surround me in grief, like a buffalo stuck in mud, unable to climb the riverbank with a crocodile closing in. Never expected a torrent of tears that lasted three hours and rendered me useless on a Sunday either.
Music is therapeutic, it makes you feel better. But the album called ‘Classic Carpenters’ made me morose. Dami Im, who came second at Eurovision, sang the old songs with the voice of an angel. They didn’t make me smile, listening became the biggest sense memory I’ve ever had.
Towards the end my Mum was in a mountain of pain. Her leg ulcer was so deep it went down to the bone. Gaping wounds result in amputation when they won’t heal in younger people. Ma’s ulcer hadn’t healed and wouldn’t heal, but was larger and more invasive after eight weeks of hospitalisation.
Seeing her flinch with nerve pain, I asked if she wanted the love songs off.
‘No, I like it, keep it on,’ she said, then visibly relaxed. Holding her hand, we cried to ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’.
