The yellow radio was a constant my mother’s home.

One Particular Yellow Radio

My mother was never feeling alone, she had a yellow radio.  As I was growing up and long after I left her home to make my way in the world, she always had one particular radio, one with a yellow plastic case on her kitchen counter.  I would hear her favorite radio station constantly playing in the background as a child.  Of course, it was music I hated.  It was an “Oldies” format.

Even when her favorite oldies station had folded and newer, much more contemporary music had become the new oldies, the one constant inside her home was that aging yellow radio, still playing, still keeping my mother company.

On one occasion, a few years ago, when I made the hour-long drive to visit my mother, to give her some human company, I knocked on her front door hoping she would respond, because I had made the drive without an appointment.  After the knock, I stood on her porch and waited.  There was no answer.  But, I could hear music coming from that yellow radio.  So, I walked around the back to see if my mother was there, not able to hear my knock.  Further inspection allowed me to discover that her car was not in the garage.  I decided to wait and listen to music from the yellow radio while sitting on the porch.  It kept me company during the fleeting minutes of my expectation.

In a few minutes my anticipation was introduced to satisfaction when my mother’s white Oldsmobile sedan cruised into the drive.  And, I was met with a smile and wave from the white-haired grandmother of my children sitting behind its steering wheel.

“You leave your radio on when you’re not home?”  I asked as she came up the sidewalk to her front door.

“It’s sound welcomes me home.”  She responded warmly, with a shy grin.

Then the time came when the yellow radio stopped welcoming my mother home.  And, all of her belongings were carefully and lovingly being removed from the house she would never return to.  My siblings thoughtfully asked me what of her belongings I would like to have.

“Only the yellow radio.”  I said with certainty, because I wanted it to constantly welcome me home, just as it did my mother for more than fifty years.

And, now that I’m all grown up, long after my mother had left her home for the last time to make her way out of this world, I was hoping it would do the same for me.  So, this particular radio, the one with a yellow plastic case, that was constantly playing on my mother’s kitchen counter, is sitting in my home.  As a child I heard her favorite radio station constantly playing in life’s background.  Of course, it was music I hated.  It was an “Oldies” format.  Now, these many years later, I can only wish to once again see my mother standing in her kitchen, by her yellow radio, listening to those same old songs, the ones she really loved.

Today those old songs and the yellow radio are two constants in an ever changing, uncertain world.  They help me fend off the loneliness of not seeing my mother anymore. They keep me company, just like they did my mother, and they’re helping me stay focused on things of true value; important things, such as being a loving parent.