May the Circle be Unbroken

I tucked Cindy in for the night, went around to my side of the bed and started watching our daughter Serena’s graduate recital streaming on the Internet. Her piece incorporates several different performance elements to convey the theme of coping to the seven stages of Alzheimer’s.  I intended to watch a replay of the recital from the start, but I logged in near the end of the live stream. Serena beckoned the audience to join her as she repeatedly sang the “May the Circle be Unbroken” refrain as a mantra.

The lyrics of the original spiritual is about a mother who died and for whom there is “a better home awaiting, in the sky Lord, in the sky.” This might seem highly appropriate, except that Serena was indoctrinated with a version Cindy and I sang during our first long distance hike. We hiked with a group for whom the unbroken circle was a symbol of unity as we hiked the Appalachian Trail, helping each other along the way. The way Serena used the song at the end joined those two meanings, the strength a community provides for the journey of losing your mother.

After the live stream ended I waited a few minutes, Cindy peacefully sleeping on the other side of the bed, then started watching the posted video of Serena’s performance from the beginning. I knew this would be emotional for me, not so much due to the topic as the perspective. As Cindy’s caregiver I am too focused on the daily tasks, not to mention the warm hugs, to be consumed by the tragedy of our situation. Only when I view my situation from the perspective of another do I feel like I am in tragic situation.

Serena started her performance with a different song, the Appalachian folk song called “Cindy.” I sing this to Cindy often, even more so these days, including the verse I made up: “If I had a penny for every word she spoke, she would not have to worry about me being broke.” Serena recounted how she and her Mom would give each other a look when I sang this verse, the roll-your-eyes look, the “there he goes again” kind of look, the type of look two close friends might give each other.

The single most memorable moment for me came when Serena expressed her main regret. She was losing her Mom just as her college friends chatted about friendships blossoming with theirs. Serena regretted that she was deprived of becoming best friends with her Mom, as she knew she would be. I felt the tragedy of her regret deeply.

At first I thought I was sympathizing with her regret from a remote perspective. For the most part I have no regrets about my life with Cindy. There were a few items on our bucket list we never crossed off, such as getting to see Alaska together, but I imagine most people fail to cross everything off their bucket lists. On the other hand most people do not live life as fully as us, a life full of adventure, a life full of community, the type of community that accompanies you on a journey of loss. I am content about our life together; perhaps that is my own coping mechanism.

Once a significant thought enters my head it digs deep into all the recesses, attempting to explore all the angles. In this case I began to realize one regret I felt about Cindy’s tragedy early on. As we walked across the country Cindy often exclaimed: “I can’t wait to have grandchildren.” I can picture the smile on her face and aura of joy whenever she expressed this sentiment. Though Cindy’s cognition was improving during our long distance hike, I still had doubts her wish to experience grandchildren would come true.

I experienced sadness, anger and other coping mechanisms featured in Serena’s performance over that regret for Cindy. She would have been a great “Nana,” just as she would have been a great friend to her daughters. My perspective became less remote, I knew personally what Serena felt.

That was not the only important angle to this best friends theme looming in my head. I once anticipated becoming best friends with a family member, but that never came to pass. Love and respect has grown between us in recent times, maybe we are on the right tract, but best friends we have yet to become. I never imagined becoming best friends with my daughters because, well, they had each other … and they were going to have their Mom.

Throughout the circumstances of Cindy’s affliction that has changed. I have grown closer with my daughters; I suspect they feel the same. We may not be what any of us originally had in mind in terms of family friendships, but we enjoy and support each other fully. Tragedy makes or breaks you. We are doing well, all things considered.

Serena displayed emotions of anger, sadness, regret and frustration throughout her piece. There were moments when she could not hold back tears while “performing.” Yet these were not the coping mechanisms her audience experienced in conclusion.

This time near the end I could see that, before singing “May the Circle be Unbroken,” Serena shared her Dad’s philosophy about wishing others to “be well,” rather than “be safe.” She guided the audience up on stage as she sang, with smiles and holding hands. Figuratively and literally, they became a community supporting Serena in the loss of her mother.

As her community formed an arc at the back of the stage, Serena ended the program by wishing them all to “be well.”  These became Serena’s final coping mechanisms. A supportive community of long distance hikers and a desire to live well also happened to be how Cindy and I began our journey together. That is how we continue our journey. May the circle be unbroken.

Here is the video of Serena’s performance.