A musician’s effort to comfort his dying mother comes to a beautiful end
Staccato notes from a trumpet blare from a house along the 4600 block of Elmbank Avenue. The music is an unsolicited homage to the once culturally rich Greater Ville Neighborhood – an area that gifted the world Chuck Berry, Arthur Ashe, Dick Gregory, Josephine Baker and so many more notable African Americans. The single-family brick home is similar to many on the quiet, tree-lined street near Hickey Elementary School.
This was the neighborhood that Edward Nelson called home, an environmental engineer, and the place where he and his wife Pauline, an accomplished artist and photographer, raised their six children in the culture and tradition of Africa. Edward passed away in 2010. The house then went into disrepair as Pauline, 91, spent time in hospitals fighting the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease and other life-threatening maladies.
As COVID-19 spread rapidly last March, the Nelsons’ oldest living son, the musician, artist and educator Mike Nelson (affectionately known as “Baba Mike”) was forced to make a difficult decision. In September, he spoke with The St. Louis American about whether he should place his mother in a nursing home, or refurbish the family home so that she could spend her final days “transitioning” in accordance with African rituals and tradition.
At the time, residents in nursing homes were dying from the virus at unprecedented rates. Because families were restricted from visiting their loved ones in many of these facilities, Nelson decided to bring his mother home. Unlike Western norms, death in many parts of Africa is perceived as the beginning of a person’s deeper relationship with creation. And so, Nelson set out to create a hospice home for Pauline that focused on complementing his mother’s life before she died, not after.
With the help of a neighborhood handyman, Nelson restored the house. He strategically placed her hospice bed by a window so that she could see her rose bushes and the neighborhood activity. Some of her favorite paintings and photographs were placed within sight, and Nelson played drums and other instruments by her bedside. Strict instructions were left for caregivers to play Pauline’s favorite CDs of big band musicians like Duke Ellington and other old school musical artists 24/7 for her comfort.
At 9:50 am on Easter Sunday, Pauline passed away. On a recent, sunny Saturday morning, Nelson played his bronze trumpet in between periods of packing up or throwing away items in the house. Gone were the caregivers, but instructions on colorful paper that marked “Day Shift,” “Night Shift” or “Medications” were still taped to the living room mantle, the kitchen refrigerator and the bedroom mirror.
“Mom is gone, but she’s still here,” Nelson confided.
Indeed. Pauline’s petrified and painted rocks dominate the front porch. There are historic porcelain artifacts on the living room mantle. Hand-painted canvases, murals and artwork adorn the walls, bathroom shutters, the basement stairwell, the attic and other places throughout the house.
A musician’s effort to comfort his dying mother comes to a beautiful end
As an artist, Nelson is still documenting while navigating his emotions, feelings and experiences. For example, he said he’s still reconciling the meaning of the dreams he had just days before his mom passed. While in slumber, Nelson said that his late father, Edward, visited him but spoke no words.
“I asked, ‘Dad, why are you here? Mom is not ready yet.’”
Nelson doesn’t know if the dreams were prophetic or instigated by resurrected memories from his childhood. He remembered the kitchen window where Pauline and Edward drank coffee and shared early morning conversations. Looking out the window now brings back memories of Gladys, the brownish and gold rhesus monkey that the Nelson family had for more than 20 years.
“Gladys made us famous in the neighborhood, but mom hated that monkey. She was a mean monkey,” Nelson recalled, laughing at the times Gladys escaped from her chain in the backyard and terrorized their neighbors.
There were other precious memories. Pauline’s family was active in Nashville’s civil rights movement in the 1960s. Her sister, Bernice Johnson Reagon, is a composer, scholar, social activist and founder of the all-Black female a cappella ensemble Sweet Honey in the Rock.Nelson fondly recalled how members of the group, other musical and visual artists – afroed, leather-clad activists and family members – visited or resided for short periods of time in the Nelsons’ small house.
Although he’s reconciling his feelings and memories, Nelson has no regrets about his mother’s final months in her family home.
“COVID-19 didn’t give people in my situation a support system,” Nelson stressed. “But I was able to build a nontraditional system because I was raised to know how our ancestors dealt with death. I played drums and sang songs to her. She knew I was there, and I knew when Mom was ready to go.”
His mother had finalized after-death arrangements long before Alzheimer’s compromised her mental capacities. Services will be small and private, Nelson said. Pauline’s ashes will be placed next to Edward at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery. Nelson said he will honor Pauline’s spirit in the African tradition. He wants the house to stay in the family as a living tribute to his mother’s artistry and his parents’ dedication to their kids, extended family members and artists of all kinds,
“I know there’s a reason for all this; a reason why mom chose to rise on Easter Sunday,” Nelson
confessed. “All I know is this: Mom’s story is now my story and I’m just going to keep her story going.”
Sylvester Brown Jr. is The St. Louis American’s inaugural Deaconess Fellow.