My sister, Eileen, died suddenly in February 2013. Before that, she was taking care of Mom, doing her laundry, taking her to doctor visits, etc.
At Eileen’s funeral her favorite song, Amarillo By Morning by George Strait was played.
I downloaded it into my iTunes account and added it to my playlist, which I used while writing on my iPad. While teaching and working, I carried my iPad everywhere just as I did my paper planner. I discovered I could write on my iPad with it acting very much like a computer, wherever I went and could block out noise using my earphones and playlist. At the time, my iPad was lighter to carry than my laptop and far easier to turn on, use, and then turn off.
The thing you have to know is that whenever I shut down the iPad, I shut down all and any of the apps that are open. I learned to do that because, during one month, I discovered apps had been running in the background using up data even though I wasn’t using the apps. They couldn’t update automatically if the apps were all closed and the iPad turned off.
I carried the iPad, the planner, and any school work I might working on with me in a black bag that always had my pencils, pens, a cord extension, and other incidentals that I didn’t want to put in my purse.
On this particular day, my brother and I were in an ER room at the hospital. My mother had arrived by ambulance before we got there, and just as we got into her room, they were wheeling her out for some tests. We waited.
I was sitting on a stool next to where her bed had been, my purse and bag on the floor, close but out of the way so no one could kick or trip on them. My brother was standing next to me, legs crossed, arms crossed, and we were talking about Mom’s situation.
All of sudden, music started playing. Amarillo By Morning. And, it was coming out of my bag.
He looked down at it. Then, looked at me, a questioning expression on his face.
I held up my hands, saying, “I didn’t touch it.”
I pulled out the iPad and opened the cover from the keyboard so that we could see the screen. It was dark.
I double-clicked on the home button to reveal the apps that were playing.
Yet, the music button on the taskbar was highlighted. I clicked on it. George Strait’s picture filled the screen.
I looked up at my brother and said, “Eileen did that. She’s letting us know that she’s here with us, with Mom.”
That was the second time she had turned on my music, while my iPad was in my bag.
I’ve been waiting to see if she’d do it again. I suspect that she’s waiting to surprise me, to catch me off guard, knowing that she got me. I can hear her chuckling now.