Guest post by Rhonda Dragomir
“Please play it again.”
My mother’s long battle with pulmonary fibrosis caused her life to simmer like broth on a stove burner. Her essence distilled down to two great loves—her family and her music. At her request, I tapped the proper button on the CD player. Music of familiar hymns filled the room as I tried to hide my anguish.
Mom was a virtuoso pianist, and her original arrangements played a concert in my soul of unforgettable memories. Earlier that month, my brother had captured a recording of her songs, anticipating the dreadful day she became too weak to sit on the piano bench.
After Mom was confined to bed, only music could soothe, inspire, and relieve her anxiety. In her final month, she abandoned all others and requested only one album—her own. If the CD ended before Mom fell asleep, she voiced a familiar plea—“Play it again.”
One evening I had to restart the CD three times, and I witnessed a marvel I’d previously missed. Instead of clutching the blanket, Mom’s fingers lay atop it, lifting and pressing in the precise rhythm of the recording as she touched every key in her mind’s eye. Only deep sleep stilled them. One day, Mom drifted into heaven accompanied by the melody of her own music.
Caregivers often reflect on events surrounding a loved one’s homegoing. My epiphany came when I realized that after her death our roles reversed. I had comforted Mom through her sickness, but her music soothed me long after she was gone. It still does.
Music touches part of the soul that nothing else reaches, particularly during dark or trying times. Mom had played for the funerals of hundreds of people, comforting families with her artistry. At the end of her life, that comfort was given back to her and amplified in the lives of her children. Through the magic of digital recording, she will console us forever.
My mother gave generously of her time and talent to God, but in her final hours, a priceless gift was returned to her. She proved true the words of Jesus, “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” (Luke 6:38 NIV).
Rhonda Dragomir is a writer and speaker from Versailles, Kentucky. She has published works in several anthologies and magazines, and she has won multiple awards for fiction and nonfiction writing. Barbour Books released her debut novel, When the Flames Ravaged, in March of 2024. Read more about her on her author and speaker website.
Tracy Crump dispenses hope in her award-winning book, Health, Healing, and Wholeness: Devotions of Hope in the Midst of Illness (CrossLink Publishing: 2021). A former intensive care nurse, she cared for her parents and her mother-in-law and understands both the burdens and joys of caregiving. Her devotions have been featured in Guideposts books, The Upper Room, and many other publications, and she has contributed 26 stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul® books. She also conducts writing workshops, produces a newsletter for writers, and does freelance editing. But her most important job is Grandma to five completely unspoiled grandchildren.
Thank you, Rhonda, for this fantastic post! This brought up many memories in my own caregiving journey. My mom loved country music, and when I finally had to move her to a memory care facility, one of the few things she could still enjoy was listening to the old country classics and hymns.
Sounds like sweet memories, Kathryn.
Enjoyed Rhonda’s story about sweet way God used her own gift to comfort her!
Thanks for joining us, Beverly!
Thank you, Rhonda and Tracy! Quite lovely and full of love. May the Lord comfort and continue to guide you!
Thank you for joining us, Maria! God’s blessings on you.
What a special gift, Rhonda. I remember listening to a relative’s recording of my grandmother long after her death. Tears of joy flowed since I never expected to hear her voice again this side of heaven.
What sweet memories!
This is one of the most powerful and authentic posts I have read in years. Your words paint a vivid picture of your mom and I can see your heart in every line as your words flow like the river of her music. Thank you for sharing this beauty with the world. I lost my foster mom to pulmonary fibrosis and the last months were a slow and painful journey as I walked with her on her way home. It was comforting to read words from someone who understands.
I know that was so hard for both of you, Shannon.