Silent House
I was driving home from work the other day, and I heard this great NPR feature on the Dixie Chicks. Now, I am by no means a fan of country music, and that's how they described their sound. However, I try to be open minded. Anyway, they have a new album out, and one of the songs was written for one of their grandmothers who is suffering from Alzheimer's.
The song is called "Silent House," and they played part of it on NPR. The chorus is as follows:
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
I cannot imagine stating it more perfectly. I thought about writing a poem, but really, they've already done that. It's not my idea, anyway; it's theirs.
I will carry it on/ and let you forget. That is exactly how I feel. In a lot of ways, people are their memories and perceptions. For as long as I can remember, I asked my grandparents about our family history. I memorized the names of the people in the oldest family photographs. This family history is wonderful, but it is also a burden that someone needs to carry. It must be preserved because it tells us who we are. It applies to now. It applies to us.
My grandma keeps starting stories and getting stuck in the middle. The other day, on the phone, she talked about how nervous she was on her wedding day, how she sat down on the steps in my grandpa's family home and cried that she "didn't want to get married." She got confused then, so I finished for her: "And then Eva (Papa's mother) came, and she told you that Papa was a good man and everything would be okay." I have heard that story at least a dozen times. I was happy to pick up the burden.
But what about those things I'm missing? What about the stories I never heard or the ones I've somehow forgotten? I try to think how I can organize it all, write it down somehow. I'm so grateful I had the forethought to make a video interview with her. At least those memories are preserved. But the things I don't know will just be…gone. Dead.
The Dixie Chicks song says the same thing, more or less: I will try to connect. All I can do is try. But, the thing is, with something as huge as two people's entire lifetimes, how could I possibly suceed? On some level, to some extent, I will fail. Part of what makes this whole process so hard is that I know that, and I can't help mourning the loss.
Samantha Tengelitsch said,
May 25, 2006 at 6:56 pm
I like the Dixie Chicks. They’re fantastic muscians and great story-tellers. This is a beautiful lyric. I agree about the letting them forget and trying to make the connections for them.
We just returned from Erick’s grandparents house. His grandmother now says “I need to go downstairs” when she needs to use the bathroom. At first I thought she was just confusing places, but Erick’s grandfather explained that on the farm (where she grew up – on Airport Rd. across from the new Best Buy), the bathroom was downstairs. It’s almost like hearing the little girl in her when she speaks those words.
The lilacs at the farm, from the same bush that supplied them with their wedding boquet, still stands. The house has long since fallen, but holding on to her stories of that day, I think of them as young people walking down these rodes now crowded by houses and businesses. It’s amazing how quickly time passes!
mel said,
May 27, 2006 at 8:15 am
Yes, I like them too, though generally country music is not my cup of tea. I give them points for being openly anti-Bush, especially in their genre; it takes guts.
Kate, the parts that struck me hardest about your post, and maybe the whole situation now were these lines: “I was happy to pick up the burden.” and “But what about those things I’m missing?”
I understand that it is very difficult to watch someone’s failing health – especially one you care about so deeply – but I am wondering why you feel it is _your_ burden to preserve “something as huge as two people’s entire lifetimes” ? I think you can keep and cherish the memories and stories you do have, and share those, and by having been a part of their lives you have not only created memories for them, but have enriched and honored them as well.
I also think that by continuing your own life, and taking with you what you have learned from them, that you do them great honor, and show them love, even if they don’t always recognize it, or are no longer here to see it.
When you said “how could I possibly suceed? On some level, to some extent, I will fail.” it felt as if you are trying to complete a puzzle of someone else’s life without all of the pieces, and you inevitably will “fail”, but I don’t think you need ALL of the pieces.
You, your family, and those who knew and loved them helped to make them who they are/were, and they are all a part of you as well. It helps me to think that in spite of the fact that someone has gone out of my life, the effect they had on my life contributed to the person I am, good or bad, and I am comforted by it. I miss them, but it also makes me grateful that I had the chance to know them, even a little.
You said “Part of what makes this whole process so hard is that I know that, and I can’t help mourning the loss.” You have done SO much, just try to remember in the process not to lose yourself in someone else’s life, and remember that you are doing them honor by living your own well. I know that they- and your family and friends- are proud of you and love you very much! Sorry if this was too mushy.