For Whom Do You Play?

It’s a mystery waiting to be known, or not, when you travel around with your harp in the car going from one home to another, load it onto your shoulder, and head into the latest referral that the hospice nurse or social worker has given you. Who am I playing for this time?

You may play for someone all alone in the room and not even present in the “now” due to dementia. Slip in, play, offer blessings, slip out.

Or perhaps a loved one will be surrounded by family members and it turns out the music is more for them, their anxiety, their wondering, than for the patient. Sometimes, it’s for the caregiver who is doubtless worn out, perhaps by incessant need, by the associated grief, by Sundowner’s, by constant giving and serving.

On occasion, you may have the opportunity to play for a patient and nearby lies another, not a patient on your list, but who, due to the circumstances of being a roomie, is listening to the music as well…

And therein lies my recent eye-opening opportunity to provide music. The call for Conrad originally came in April and I have played for him at least once a month since. He has a horrible Parkinson’s-like disease that causes him to be very stiff and he has a hard time communicating and swallowing. It’s particularly tough since he’s just 6 years older than I.

I played for him in his room the first time and he’d mentioned Beatles to the social worker, so in I went with Beatles and more. His roommate, Peter, who is perhaps similarly aged, remained quiet to the point I wasn’t sure if I was imposing on him, or just what. But eventually I picked up from his expression that he was enjoying the music.

The next few times, including Conrad’s birthday in late July, he was eating in the kitchen area and other residents were around but not the roommate. Once we got to August and September, Conrad was less able to be out of bed so I was back in his room to provide a bit of everything from classical to Here Comes the Sun. This time, I could tell Peter loved it, as he was visually more demonstrative.

Peter lies there, sometimes with shades on his eyes, taking in the music. Oh yes, you noticed – this story is switching to Peter and he’s not even my patient. It gets richer… October 21, Conrad is really suffering from eating his yogurt breakfast, choking, coughing, wearing out. Peter is quietly lying there, listening to selections from my autumn pieces I’ve put together. I end with Nearer My God to Thee segueing into My Heart Will Go On. It’s a sweet ending to the time.

I say good-bye to Conrad, then to Peter and he speaks! “Wait!” Stick-thin legs get him out of his bed and he shuffles to the closet to get out a bag. He feels around for CDs and hands me two. He opens the cover of one and there’s a photo of a young man and he flounders for words, trying to say, “Son.” I respond, “This is your son.” He nods readily. I am unsure if I’m to borrow or take so I say I’ll bring them back. “No, no, they’re for you.” I thank him, tuck them into my bag and bring them home.

At home, I’m struck by the title: Songs for the Living: A Musical Journey Through Grief. I read the few liner notes and learn that Peter, not his son, wrote the music, plays several instruments throughout the recordings, and they are dedicated to his coping and healing from the loss from cancer of his 22-year-old son. I’m shaken. Somehow, I’m connecting to someone not even on my roster, and he’s turning out to be more and more amazing.

I get on the internet and learn even more. Peter lost his son in 2004 and it ripped him apart, according to his brother. In 2005, he was inspired to go to New Orleans, taking more than one trailer full of pianos and other musical instruments from Southern Oregon to help those who lost their instruments or needed repairs after Hurricane Katrina. He winds up staying there 5 years, creating a foundation for his mission and dedicated to his son, and all the while continues to help people, especially musicians and their instruments. You can hear a bit about it in this interview he had that was featured on NPR.

I listen to the first track, You Are With Me. It’s poignant, beautiful, sweet, filled with depth of emotion. He did an amazing job on it. You can hear it here:

So why is he lying in a bed and apparently not doing very well? I inadvertently find out on the internet. Age 64, he was felled by a massive stroke that caused paralysis of his entire right side. His brother didn’t find him for 3 hours and time is of the essence in any kind of stroke recovery. Doctors gave up on him, yet friends and family did not. That’s why he can walk at all now. Speech, taking up a quarter of the brain, is the last piece to recover, which explains his halting ability with words.

I’m dumbfounded to discover he’s an Ashland musician, obviously well known in years gone by, obviously extremely talented and quite willing to give of self. He made 4 trips to and from New Orleans, driving 75 instruments to the area.

This past Friday, the social worker for Conrad leaves me a message that Conrad is actively dying and since he always enjoyed the music, if I could get there soon, it would really matter. I head over there on Saturday, as I am playing a special event in Medford anyway and it’s easy enough to make happen.

I am there for Conrad…. and I am there for Peter, too. I cannot help it. I walk in, reach out my hand to Peter and we squeeze hands tightly for a few minutes; I am hoping I can choke back any tears and not have a shaky voice. I “suck it up”, smile, and say, “So – you are a fellow musician!” He nods and smiles. I hadn’t known this all those times I was playing for the two of them. I offer my empathy for the loss of his son, my congratulations on the great CD and mention the beauty of “You Are With Me.” I know he is grateful to have made this connection.

I am left wondering about the details of the lives of so many people with whom I come in contact, play a set of tunes for, hope to reach their hearts, maybe even help them in their journey onward. And yet, I do not know them, who they are, how they’ve lived, how they came to be where they are…. and in this case, who lies in the bed next to them.

Even after writing this, I still find myself amazed that….
I never know for whom I will next play my harp.