Bluebirds

On Saturday afternoons, if I haven't got another booking, I play piano at a residential home about four miles away. People there have altzeimers. I play Que Sera Sera and Over The Rainbow and The Lambeth Walk and those that are able sing along and the rest just sleep or sit there looking bemused. I've been going for nearly two years now and know all the residents.
Whenever I play there I often come away feeling good about things, because these people were of the generation where a piano would be in almost every house, and I can tell they enjoy hearing the old songs. And when you see them old and bent and weak and hear them singing "the future's not our to see" and you're playing and singing to it's quite something; and a lesson to me that music isn't just about pop and fashion and elitism and trendiness, it's about sharing something with others through tunes and words. I sometimes get a lump in my throat when I'm playing and I know that's silly but there's some connection when I look in their tired eyes and I know they know I like to play for them and we're all happy in the music.
There's one lady who must have been quite a character back in the day. She runs her fingers through my hair and keeps asking me to take her out. "Come on, let's go" she says, "Show me a good time!"
One more than on occasion she's told me she could teach me a thing or two and I'm sure she's right. When I play she sings along and winks at me and I like her.
Yesterday I saw her and her face was beaten up terrible. She'd had a fall on Friday night and been taken to hospital. There was dried blood in her nose and bruises everywhere. She looked like one of those old people on the front of newspaper beaten by thugs, the type of picture that makes you angry want to bring back hanging no matter how liberal you are.
And worse, she was confused. She didn't know where she was. She looked frightened, vulnerable. Smaller somehow.
She didn't enjoy me playing the piano, even though I smiled and waved and winked at her and did all the things she usually enjoyed. She asked one of the carers to take her to her room halfway through.
Yesterday I felt sad and sorry for what had happened to her and annoyed that someone has to be so confused and afraid and vulnerable in their twilight years, and I came away with all kinds of thoughts, and as soon as I got home my friend bought his six month old baby round, all laughing and gurgling with everything in front of him and it was like I saw the start and end of people's lives in that half hour, four miles and eighty years apart.