Jeurzalem

The course of my mother's life was never one that was linear. It was a dance with highs and lows, turns and twists, and ups and downs. If one wasn't prepared for it, it was the kind of existence that would make one feel lightheaded. Nevertheless, no matter how challenging the path ahead may have been, she never appeared to lose her smile. Her eyes—those stunning grey eyes that glistened with warmth, love, and passion—were always there with that grin, which will always be a part of my recollection.

I recall hearing "Jeruzalem" on the radio for the first time. Long before I ever imagined it would be the music that would get me through the darkest moments of my life, it was years ago. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as my mother and I sat in our home's kitchen. Her fingers were tapping the counter softly in rhythm with the beat as she hummed along to the song. Something about it clicked for us both, and I had never seen her so engrossed in a song before.

We quickly became hooked on the song, not because of its meaning but rather because of how it made us feel. The buzz, the swing, and the beat were all very similar to the dance of life, especially the life of my mother. Her illness's highs and lows were reflected in the movements, which would lift her up and then down her again. The continual oscillation between hardship and optimism, between sadness and happiness. The song seemed to have been written just for us.

Our distance increased when my mother was transferred to a nursing home in Germany. She was vulnerable due to the years of her disease, and I was unable to provide the expert care she needed. I tried my best to stay in touch even though I couldn't be there every day or hold her hand as often as I would have liked to. Since there was no internet in the nursing home, we had to communicate over lengthy, emotional phone calls. It was weird at first. The only communication we had left was the occasional phone conversation, which attempted to bridge the gap between us with words. We were accustomed to the intimacy of daily living.

Love was always present in those calls, but there was also a strong sense of longing. It appeared as if we were both attempting to connect in a way that would make the miles seem insurmountable. Nevertheless, those discussions had a certain beauty in spite of the technological divide. They turned into a lifeline for us both. I could always hear the usual tone and warmth in her voice when I phoned her. And I couldn't help but smile when I heard her chuckle.

We would frequently discuss the song "Jeruzalem," remembering the hours we spent listening to it together. Her eyes were sparkling with the memory of those moments, and I could just see her tapping her fingers on whatever surface was close by, engrossed in the rhythm. Even when her body started to deteriorate, I could still hear her spirit in those chats. The song came to represent her journey—the illness that both uplifted and depressed her, the fight that never quite let go but yet never completely engulfed her.

She would frequently express her admiration for the song to me. She claimed that it gave her the want to dance and that, despite her suffering, she could still enjoy life. "It’s like life itself," she would say. "Always moving, always changing, but never losing the beat."

I would also concur with her. For her, life was always that way—always changing, always uncertain, but always accompanied by a rhythm. She maintained her sense of movement, swing, and the erratic beauty of life even in the face of hardship and grief.

The calls increased in frequency as the months went by. I could tell that she was losing energy and that she was having a difficult time fighting. Even on the days when she was too exhausted to speak, we would still manage to connect and remind one another that love knew no bounds. I would play "Jeruzalem" on the phone while we were speaking, allowing the song to help us both get through those trying times. It evolved into more than simply a song; it became our anthem, our bond, and a reminder that happiness can be found in life even in its most difficult circumstances.

Then she died in November.

Even though I wasn't present when she breathed her last, I could still feel her presence in the song. I was sitting at my piano, my fingers lingering over the keys, the morning I got the call. The weight of the situation was too great, and the void left by her absence was nearly unbearable. But then I started playing out of instinct.

The room echoed as "Jeruzalem" began to play. The beat that had characterized our times together, the swing of the music, seemed to reverberate through the quiet. Abruptly, I sensed her presence once more. Her presence seemed to have joined the music, helping me to navigate the anguish of bereavement.

I closed my eyes, and in that moment, I could see her. I could see her smiling, her eyes sparkling with that same passion and love she had always carried with her. I could hear her laughter, soft and sweet, as though she was still dancing to the rhythm of life, even now. It was a beautiful and haunting moment, one that I will carry with me forever.

She had always been a part of the music, I realized as the song continued. Her life was a narrative of highs and lows, of ups and downs. And now they also became my tale. Even in the face of sickness and loss, "Jeruzalem" would always be our song, serving as a reminder of our love and happiness together. It was more than simply a song; it was the cadence of our bond, a melody that would endure despite our distance from one another.

I listened to that song more than ever in the months that followed. Every time I listened to it, I felt more connected to her, as though the music served as a link between life and death, the past and the present. It turned into a means of honoring her spirit and our shared love, as well as preserving her memory.

The tune stayed the same despite all the suffering. It represented the life she had led and the fortitude she had displayed. It served as a reminder that no matter what, we always manage to return to the swing of the dance, the rhythm of life, and the unwavering love.