[ WP ] Magic is discovered and it 's channeled with music . Modern nations dissolve and new countries rise in their place divided by the preferred music . In the frozen north lie the Metal kingdoms . Far to the south are the countries of Soul etc .

By the time I was six, mom did n't even have her words anymore. 
 
 Some men in white coats had diagnosed her with *primary progressive aphasia*. it was a long word, with barbs and whistles on the ends. and I was six and it did n't make a lot of sense to me. 
 
 What did? 
 
 Mom started losing her words. At first she spoke really fast and I sometimes could n't understand what she was saying, *'' Bennyremembertopickupyourlunchandgivethesliptoyourgymteacher today'' * 
 everything running together like tiny streams drain into a river. 
 
 Then she could n't find words, 
 *'' Good pretty early day, Bennet'' * she said one morning. 
 
 Notes for school became illegible, signatures of tests had to be done by my dad. 
 
 I remember feeling small and enveloped on dad's lap when I asked, `` Daddy, what is happening to mommy's words?'' 
 
 He did n't know. and the men in white jackets did n't have an answer either. 
 
 in 5 % of all cases, it is like this, no stroke, no evidence of brain trauma. 
 
 *idiopathic* they called it. A word that meant the gods had seen fit to curse us in this way. 
 
 Mom used to be a teacher, but eventually she had to quit when speaking the words were to difficult. 
 
 And she stayed at home, my vibrant mothers with her hair the color of flame had become this dull quiet thing. I think she was sad, and I could read her sadness in the way she made the beds, in her hands as she ironed my shirts each morning. 
 
 and the pain wo n't not stop lingering in her eyes like a visitor who had overstayed his welcome. 
 
 The last thing she had was song, see in our world, songs were magic, a heartspring with which to call up the depth of emotions, and the world. 
 
 
 Mama had a beautiful voice, and even when the words were no longer coming, she would sing her childhood lullabies to me. just the cadence without the words, and I could feel her love wrap around me. 
 
 
 Look, you know how this is going to end. Yes one day I woke up to the notes, the unforgivable sorry and there were the pills and the bathroom and the blood around her wrists. 
 
 but I do n't want to talk about that. I've spent a lifetime talking about it in therapy. 
 
 What i want to talk about is how even now her voice haunts me, how even now I can still hear her songs before I go to sleep the melodies carrying the ghost of words each night. 
 
 *I miss you mom*
