Scatterplot
Group: Members
Posts: 1980
Joined: Dec. 2007 |
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Posted: June 03 2008, 05:38 |
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I was saving this story. I was thinking about it the night I told the tale of the dying old man and the Voyager tape.... I lost both parents to cancer, dad in 1989 and mom in 1990. They both seemed to like most of the MO music I had played in the house(s) since 1973. Well, mom lived a year beyond dad and a lot of what we did in that last year together was music. The first few months anyway. At least a 3rd of it was MO. I remember one Sunday I played HR and after it ended she said, "That was a nice church service Jim". There were others, mostly english art-rock since that's mostly what I like. She remarked a lot that Richard Wright, Justin Hayward and Eric Clapton were attractive which I thought was amusing. Anyway, the last couple of months were something no one should ever see and ultimately led me into a 12 year career of basically comforting the dying with pharmaceuticals(mainly morphine). Her doctor had set up a situation with a registered nurse coming over regularly to our house, a hospital bed.....drugs, equipment, etc. 48 hours before she died, she spent the night in the hospital, then was brought back home by ambulance. That one night I spent alone, there was no music, just me sitting in her "home hospital room"........just kind of staring off into space reliving how I got "from there to here" and greiving. The last night together, after she was returned home, she had not been able to talk for weeks, eyes lifeless but open. I don't know just how much intellect or recognition was really there as the cancer had metasticized to her brain and the last MRI I had seen of it was........bad.
I had set up a chair for me and a jam-box by her bedside. The entire night was spent listening to music and me giving her IV morphine through a heparin lock. At least 50% of it was Mike Oldfield. I held her hand and that was it for 8 to 10 hours, except for this one moment where she actually made eye contact with me. She was trying to convey "Thank you for being here and playing this music for me". I could tell. My nonverbal reply was "I would not have it any other way, Mom". Well, she died around 10AM that morning.
I never really associate all the music I listen to, with that night, all these years later. Otherwise, I would not have anything left to listen to. I told that story to my brother the last time I saw him, in 1997. No one else did I ever tell. But MO was a big part of that night and her life as well. That was my largest tubular moment of the last 20 years. Some might say, ever. Just one of the things I like Mike for. His music does not provide entertainment only. But comfort as well. Take care, Tubularians.
Jim
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We raise our voices in the night
Crying to heaven
And will our voices be heard
Or will they break Like the wind
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