Sing Me a Song

    As I filled the teakettle and sat on the side of her bed, Nellie suddenly demanded, "Sing something."
   
     I wasn't sure I had heard correctly. "What?"
   
     "Sing me a song," she repeated.
   
     "What kind of song? A Christmas song? Any particular song? Do you want me to sing in English or Russian?" If she chose Russian, my repertoire would be severely limited.
   
     "It doesn't matter," she said. "Just any song."
   
     So I sang. It was December, and the songs most on my mind were Christmas carols, so I began with one of my favorites--What Child Is This? I love to sing, but I do NOT love to sing when I know people are listening. It took me a few bars to overcome my shyness, but, after all, I love to sing. Nellie listened quietly, keeping time with her good hand and humming along rather tunelessly.
   
     "I like that song. I remember singing it in church before my stroke. Sing me another," she commanded. And so I sang on. Silent Night, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, Away In a Manger, We Three Kings...all the verses I could recall. When I finished We Three Kings, she asked what it was about. "That's a pretty song. I've never heard it before. Sing it again."
   
     "Again? The same song?" I was getting a little tired, but Nellie was insistent.
   
     "Yes, yes, again."
   
     I sang We Three Kings one more time, and finally Nellie was satisfied. As my one-woman-caroling session came to an end, I wondered how I would feel if I were suddenly cut off from the songs I love so much--if I could no longer sing because I couldn't remember any words.

Homesick

I brought a book for Nellie to read--a well-loved Russian poet telling a well-loved Russian fairytale, in Russian (of course) with beautiful illustrations. Having handed it to her, I proceeded to fill and turn on my electric kettle so we could have tea. By the time I sat down on the bed beside her, my little babushka was practically sobbing.

Alarmed, for she'd been perfectly fine when I entered the room, I asked, "What's wrong? What happened?" She only shook her head and continued to cry. I was really worried by this time, and tried again. "What is the matter? Are you alright?" Finally she calmed enough to gasp through her tears, "My heart--"

Oh, dear. What had I done? I rubbed her back and soothed her until she was able to talk a little, and the words trickled out. "When I saw the book, and the pictures, and the story, my heart was so sad...and I cried." She was still crying, though at least now she could control it a bit. She kept turning her head away to keep me from seeing the tears.

"It's okay," I comforted her. "Sometimes it's good to cry a little."

"I think I need to go back to Russia," she said. "I should go back and die there, in my homeland."