The Stories Behind the Songs of Brian Thomas

When my dad called me to tell me that his mom had died, I didn't know what to say. She
had passed only ten or fifteen minutes before I received the phone call. My first thought was
for Grandpa, whose life had been centered around caring for his wife. How will he respond
now that the task he took on himself and refused to give to anyone else was over? What
would he do, and how would his heart be now that his beloved Katie had passed? They
married young, when he was only 17, so his entire adult life had been spent together with
her. A new season of solitude was forced upon him, ready or not as he may have been.

When I was growing up, I remember Grandma and Grandpa bantering back and forth quite
about, arguing good-naturedly about politics, about the state of the roads and traffic these
days, or about any other number of things that were way over my head at the time. As the
years progressed and I grew, I watched as their relationship grew more and more tender.
Grandpa's heart seemed to soften with the years. Grandma's memory began to fade as
Alzheimer's began to take hold. She lost her ability to recall what had happened only a few
moments before, but she could remember her childhood and the years in which she raised
her 12 children with amazing accuracy. As her memory faded, her kindness increased.
Though she hadn't remembered my name or who I was for years, she still had a kiss and a
'Hello darling' for me every time I saw her. Even after she couldn't remember a conversation
of a few minutes before, she would still often look back over the years, and pull out a piece
of advice for me from the memories she still possessed in that yet-unspoiled part of her
mind. I remember one time she remarked to me at her 60th wedding anniversary, "You just
love each other one day at a time. I wish the same for you."

I also loved the way she and Grandpa would dance together. They would come alive when
the music came on at a wedding or a family event, and they would spin around the room
together, completely in love after all those years. At my wedding, I remember vividly that
Grandma could barely be stopped once the music began. Grandpa had hurt his hip, so he
wasn't able to dance with her, so she found me and decided to make me her partner instead.
After about five or six songs, I thought she might be tired, so I said, "Grandma, I'm getting
tired. Maybe we should sit the next one out." She said to me, "Oh, don't worry. We'll take it
slow and easy!" A couple of songs later my uncle graciously took over so I could dance with
my bride again. I know I quit long before she did.

It was because of their affinity for dancing that I had dedicated a song to them a few years
earlier. I said in the liner notes of my first CD, "Dedicated to my grandparents, still dancing
after 60 years." When the CD was just new, I took it to my parents' house to celebrate.
Grandma and Grandpa were over, along with my uncle and aunt. When Candlelight
Dancing came on, Grandpa stood up. He cleared the furniture out of the way, took Grandma
by the hand, and whisked her into the center of the room. Holding each other close, they
gently danced as the piano softly guided them.

I do believe in heaven, and I do believe that it is a joyful place, full of dancing and song and
laughter. I know that Grandma's memory is now clear, and that the cancer that had given her
so much pain near the end will never bother her again. May you dance again, Grandma, and
never feel sorrow again.