Cármel Zavala Díaz

Over the years, I have come up with many reasons for putting mom in a nursing home.

Many.

But the most compelling reason is for what she told me one summer day when I was 12.

We were on our way to my aunt’s house in one of the long blue Oldsmobile cars my parents owned. Back then, cars had seatbelts, but it wasn’t mandatory to wear them. So, ours were neatly tucked away on the upper door frame of the car.

Four to five kids could fit easily in the back seat. I liked it best when I had the seat to myself. I could lie across it for a nap. I could even ride in the back on my knees singing along to KTSA, a San Antonio pop station.

The year was 1977. Didi Conn starred in the romantic drama, You Light Up My Life, about a young woman with dreams of becoming a singer. I never saw the movie, but I remember the trailer clearly.

There was pretty dark-haired girl in front of a microphone as the piano began to play. The girl nodded her head to the music as if counting the beats to her introduction.

As the camera pulled back, it revealed an orchestra in the recording studio. The young girl looked around to take it all in as she continued to sing how there were so many dreams she kept deep inside her.

Cue the flute.

“And you light up my life

You give me hope to carry on

You light up my days and fills my nights with song.”

It seemed to me that the young girl couldn’t believe how well things were going for her. I had no clue what the plot was. All I knew was that this girl could sing. She was belting it out with all she had, and looked beautiful doing it.

How hard could that be?

So, now imagine me kneeling in the back seat of the Oldsmobile while Mom drove us to my aunt’s house that summer day, and Debbie Boone was blasting through the rear speakers.

I sang like I was that young girl in the recording studio. I looked out the rear window just before the flute came in, amazed at how awesome I sounded. I looked up toward the imaginary conductor, the one with the bushy hair.

I even pressed my hands on my lap just before I raised my hand to side of my face.

“Finally a chance to say, ‘Hey, I love you.’

Never again to be all alone.”

The icing on the cake was just before the second round of the chorus. I placed my hand on my head and belted it out with all I had.

“And you light up my life

You give me hope to carry on

You light up my days and fills my nights with song.”

Mom was already walking ahead of me by the time I got off the car. I had to hurry to catch up to her.

“Mom, did you hear me singing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s it amazing how I sound just like the singer?”

“No, Mi’ja. It’s just that you’re so close to the speaker that you can’t hear what you really sound like.”

Waaah

Waaah

Waaaaahaha

And, that is why Mom is going to a nursing home.