MY MOTHER'S HAIRBRUSH, PAINTING, & VIOLIN

Painting by my mother, Evelyn Brumbaugh

My mother lives in a care home these days because she must. Most of our visits have few activities, and I do most of the talking. What is meaningful, though, is being together. We have our routine. After greeting Mother with a hug, I gravitate to her nightstand. A purple brush is next to a black comb in its drawer.
     I grab the set and then begin to brush my mother’s hair. Mother has soft, curly, gray hair. I style her hair until it puffs out nicely and gently frames her face, just the way she used to wear it. A dab of lipstick on and she looks lovely. She smiles at me when I am done and thanks me. This is my favorite part of the visit.

My mother is an artist at heart. No longer does a painter’s brush move across the canvas, but I remember her at work on her beautiful paintings. Every dip of the paintbrush and dab of paint added to the scene set before her, whether a rose, an ocean view, a mountain cabin in the pines, or a pond with lilies surrounding it. They were beautiful.

Mother’s other love, her violin, now rests in quiet repose in its case between the piano and living room wall. An oval framed photograph from long ago of my mother’s violin teacher as a young woman wearing a chiffon gown, hangs on the wall. I knew that some day the orchestra concerts would come to an end, and I wouldn’t be ready. And that is exactly how it played out.
The first time Mother got sick was the day of an orchestra concert. From the hospital I called her director to let him know she wouldn’t be making the concert. That was the end of violin concerts for Mother and the last of playing her violin altogether. Violin playing had been a source of pleasure for her for eighty years, which had started with my grandma taking my mother in to Los Angeles an hour by tram for the violin lessons. Mother was six years old. I miss Mom playing her violin.

On quiet visits to my mom’s room, I play CDs of my mother’s orchestra concerts—and we both enjoy them. The William Tell Overture is my favorite selection with Phantom of the Opera as a close second. Mother loves them all.

I view my mother differently in her sunset years. All the wonderful parts of Mother’s life are remembered and appreciated. I see her more clearly than I used to. She gave so much or herself to her family. Now, during my visit to see her, she and I are content to sit side-by-side and enjoy the moment.