The Singing Room

We had a room off our living room that we called the music room. In that special room was a pump organ which mother had played in the Smithfield Church of the Brethren when she was young. I often wondered who purchased that organ when mom and dad had a sale before they moved to Harrisburg. I was in Arizona at my Brethren Volunteer Service project.

Mother played the most beautiful pieces on the organ and our piano. Dad loved to sing while she played. It was to be that in their later years when they were in the home at Masonic Village in Elizabethtown, they led a sing along for the Alzheimer’s residents for many years. Many of the residents who came to the group (most on wheelchairs) could not talk. However, they could sing. Often tears would be coming down their cheeks. Perhaps caused by the joy of being able to announce the words or perhaps the hymn or oldie brought a memory, Mother was losing her sight. She could no longer read music, but she could still play. She had all those hymns and oldies memorized. When mother had Alzheimer’s, there wasn’t a sing along group for her to attend. Our last communication was my singing a verse of a hymn and when I stopped, mother finished it. We smiled. Mother was 97 years old then. Sometimes after high school plays and events, class members chose to come to our house. I think our Player Piano was a unique drawing card. We had 99 piano rolls.

I held many private (just me) church services in that room. I would take mother’s fern from it’s stand. I put my little white Bible on that stand and read those scriptures and preached and preached.

Mother noticed me one day. She said that was when she knew why her fern was dying. When I lifted the fern from my pulpit, I was crushing the leaves. She sometimes said, “Marie preached so hard she killed my fern.” I took it as a compliment.