Moon River---Mom's Song Author: Yolanda Mortimer />
Music is well said to be the speech of angels. ~Thomas Carlyle
Mom and Dad lived on a small farm that they had owned since I was seven. It had started out as a weekend place for my dad to "get away from it all." My mom loved the peace and quiet of the land and loved to work in the garden among her flowers and vegetables.
In the evenings, my mom and I would sit for hours singing in the little kitchen. I sang the melody and Mom harmonized. Her favorite song was "Moon River" and we sang it over and over. Mom told me stories about how when I was a little girl, I could sing before I could talk. She loved to tell how my playpen sat in the kitchen next to the radio and there was one song I particularly loved called "Ivory Tower." Mom would laugh when she told me how I'd get excited whenever the song came on. I knew the melody, but not the words, yet I tried to sing along with it. As an adult, I didn't remember this song, but Mom took great pleasure in reliving that childhood memory over and over again.
As time passed, Mom and Dad renovated that little farmhouse and they went to live there permanently when Dad retired his job. By then I had my own children and went to visit every week or two. The kids loved the farm and the tractor rides with my dad. Me, well, I still hated the silence of the farm. While my mom loved to sit at her kitchen table and look out at her garden and flowers and retell all the old stories, I missed the hustle and bustle of my life at home. But I sat there listening quietly as she reminisced.
After mom's death, I sat in her chair at the familiar kitchen table, looking out at her garden that was now covered in snow, feeling a terrible ache inside. I missed her. I missed her gentle manner and I longed to hear just one more old story. Why hadn't I listened more carefully when she told them over and over? If only I could hear her voice one more time, tell her I loved her and thank her for all my childhood memories.
I sat back in the silence. The silence was deafening so I finally leaned over to turn on an old radio that sat in the corner of the counter. Music always comforted me. My heart skipped a beat. "Moon River" was playing on the radio. I sat there stunned, with a tear running down my cheek, as I listened to every last familiar note.
