Tuesday, June 17, 2014

The Concert

Six years ago, my husband was released from his job. Five years ago, testing began. And four years ago, he was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. These are my thoughts and feelings about our experiences, good and not so good. I hope, on the whole, my chronicles will be an encouragement to you. Thank you for reading them. Hang on to your hope! 

I took this photo. Please don't use it without
 my permission. Thank you.
For my husband's birthday, I surprised us both with last-minute tickets to see singer, songwriter, and musician James Taylor. We'd never seen him "live" before, and both of us have enjoyed his music since we were young. You could say it's the "soundtrack of our lives."

The weather was lovely, our seats were surprisingly good (especially considering the reasonable price), and Mr. Taylor's performance was incredible. Wow. What stage presence, voice command, and rapport with the audience. He's a consummate pro, making a large venue feel like a small club. Intimate. Comfortable. We were transported years back in time to when we were just starting out together. Music is amazing that way. It has memories attached to it. Mostly good ones, in this case.

My husband, along with the rest of the audience, was happily singing along to the songs. I was pleased and surprised that he was remembering the lyrics, but I wasn't prepared for the emotions I was feeling. A deep sense of sorrow and melancholy enveloped me. Yes, I was enjoying the concert. Very much so. Yes, I was singing along, too. Yes, I was listening for my favorite song, too. But tears were running down my cheeks. I may have been sobbing, overcome with feelings of loss and longing for that elusive something that might never actually have been there. That thing you can't quite put your finger on but wish you could embrace.

I was happy. And I was sad. Happy because my husband was having a wonderful time. Happy because I'd been able to give him something really special for "his" day. Sad because tomorrow, or even on the way home tonight, he might not really remember having been there without prompting. Sad because we were young once, and we didn't realize we wouldn't always be. We were healthy once, and we took it for granted. Just like all of you.

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