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![\"Pam](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/4235165_web1_Spring-flowers-PF.jpg\")
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Pam Frampton photo<\/p>\n
Spring flowers are a sure sign of brighter days ahead.<\/p>\n
But then the residents here are grieving. They have lost two of their number in recent weeks, both wonderful women whose company I enjoyed on many previous visits, and today\u2019s music session has been dedicated to their memories.<\/p>\n
I touch Mom\u2019s arm and her eyes flutter awake. Immediately I see that something is off. She does not greet me with her usual radiant smile. Her brown eyes are lifeless, devoid of light; her mouth downturned.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you doing?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
No answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt takes so long for them to get anything done around here,\u201d she mutters to herself.<\/p>\n
Hearing the singing all around her, she starts The Alphabet Song but trails off halfway through, struggling to find the words.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d she asks, but can\u2019t hear me because of the ambient noise.<\/p>\n
I write my name is big letters using the Notes app on my phone and show it to her. She shrugs. \u201cI can\u2019t read that,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I take her hand and she holds mine for a moment before letting it drop. I try to engage her interest with the stuffed bunny we brought her on Mother\u2019s Day, which is on her lap. We call him Reg the Rabbit after my late dad, whose first name seems lost to her now. She refers to him only as her former teacher, Mr. Frampton. We hope that if we say his name often enough it might act like a key to the locked door of recall.<\/p>\n
This new loss is difficult to bear. With dad now hovering only at the periphery of her memory, she \u2014 and we \u2014 are deprived of her loving recollections of him after their 62-year marriage. It is another painful development along Alzheimer\u2019s cruel path.<\/p>\n
In the months immediately following his death she would ask us repeatedly if we had gotten him a headstone, which we had, and we took her to visit his grave. But those memories have disappeared. If she knows he is gone, it doesn\u2019t seem to register. When I showed her a photo of him recently, there was no flicker of recognition.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I only saw him once,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you remember about him?\u201d I say, anxious for any crumb of acknowledgment of the wonderful life they had together.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was a good man,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
The lady in the horn-rimmed glasses gestures to a page in the songbook, snapping me back into the present.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is a sad one,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I say, even though I am unfamiliar with the song.<\/p>\n
The room fills with sound as Kitty Wells launches into How Far is Heaven:<\/p>\n
How far is Heaven? When can I go?<\/p>\n
To see my daddy, he\u2019s there, I know<\/p>\n
How far is Heaven? Let\u2019s go tonight<\/p>\n
I want my daddy to hold me tight<\/p>\n
A couple of the residents are moved to tears; one man is sobbing and wiping his eyes. The music co-ordinator distributes Kleenex. It\u2019s enough to break your heart.<\/p>\n
The bespectacled lady next to me is crying and I touch her on the shoulder and ask if she\u2019s all right. She nods yes through her tears.<\/p>\n
I look around the room and think about how much loss these people must have already borne \u2014 not just the recent passing of their friends, but spouses, siblings, parents, even children. A lifetime of loss must be a heavy load to bear.<\/p>\n
I think of my mother and her own father, lost at sea 70 years ago. Like the dad in Kitty Wells\u2019 sad song, \u201cHe was called so suddenly and could not say goodbye.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom cried for years after that, but today she seems almost to have been called away herself; unreachable.<\/p>\n
The music has changed now, with songbook pages turned to The Stanley Brothers\u2019 Angel Band, a banjo prettily picking out the twangy melody:<\/p>\n
My latest sun is sinking fast<\/p>\n
My race is nearly run<\/p>\n
\n\t\tWinnipeg Free Press | Newsletter\n\t<\/p>\n
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My strongest trials now are past<\/p>\n
My triumph has begun<\/p>\n
I hope the singing and the tears are cathartic. I hope that for the residents, coming together to give voice to the hurt and loss eases their burden for a little while.<\/p>\n
I hope Mom\u2019s strongest trials are now past, that today is just an anomaly, and that she will be there to greet me when I come again.<\/p>\n
Pam Frampton lives in St. John\u2019s.<\/p>\n
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Pam Frampton Pam Frampton is a columnist for the Free Press. She has worked in print media since 1990 and has been offering up her opinions for more than 20 years. Read more about Pam<\/a>.<\/p>\n Pam\u2019s columns are built on facts, but offer her personal views through arguments and analysis. Every column Pam produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print \u2014 part of the Free Press\u2018s tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press\u2019s history and mandate<\/a>, and learn how our newsroom operates<\/a>.<\/p>\n
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