The Power of Music in Our Lives

Christmas; The season of sharing and giving, peace and joy; a time to be with those we love and cherish. But for many it is a difficult season, the homeless, the sick, the lonely or the poor and sometimes simply a senior citizen living alone.   As I approach this season, I am watching my mother struggle to keep a brave face as she come upon her first Christmas without her lifelong companion of the past seventy plus years.    It brings back memories for me too and of the visits we paid to him this year at the Joseph Brant Centre, a long-term care facility in Burlington, Ontario where he spent his last few months and days.

The visits were not very happy occasions.   Sunk into depression, with legs that would not walk, ears that could no hear and a mind that could not compute, my father only wanted to lie in bed and sleep.

On one such occasion, my mother and I insisted he get up and putting him in his wheelchair, we wheeled a reluctant man down the hall.  Taking him to one of the common rooms it was hard work to ignite any spark of interest.   “Shall we play cards?” I asked. “No” replied my father quietly.  Of course not, he cannot remember the game and quickly becomes frustrated and upset.    “How about watching the TV.?” But this will not work either, his eyesight is poor, and in any case, he rarely understands what is going on.  Pictures of grandchildren and great-grandchildren on my phone bring flashes of real joy but then he soon becomes far away and asks only if he can go back to bed now.

It can be very tiring trying to entertain a ninety-three-year-old Alzheimer patient.   Searching for something, anything, I suddenly notice a piano.  “Hey! Play the piano dad!” I cry.   He was always a great pianist, you know, one of those people who can sit down and play anything “by ear” as they say.  “No!”, he frowned “I cannot play anymore.”   “But you can “I insisted, “you just need to practice.”   Flush with this great new idea, I wheeled him tout -suite to the music room and parked him in front of the piano.    “Go ahead” I urged, “Play something.”   Slowly and deliberately with one hand and one finger he thumped…… diddle um dum dum diddle dum dum. “No” he said dejectedly, “I cannot.”  

“Then can I play for you?” I pleaded and my father stared back vacantly.   Unlike my father, I need sheet music, so I opened the piano stool and there on top was a piece called The Desert Song. Now this struck me as quite a strange coincidence.    When we lived in the country, our next-door neighbour Mrs. Finch often invited me to play her piano, I was about nine years old at the time.   I thought it a great privilege as I was invited into the front sitting room and there all alone left to play on her piano.   She had sheet music also and one of my favourite pieces was a score called The Desert Song from the musical The Student Prince by Sigmund Romberg.  How strange I thought that this piece of music would be sitting right there on top of the pile.   I whipped out the music with much relish and proceed to play this very old piano.   Immediately, two budgies sitting atop the piano started to jump around their cages, singing and chirping with gusto, it was obvious they knew the piece well and sang out lustily.  This amused my dad, and he beamed at the two songsters.  But suddenly from nowhere they were joined by a strong contralto voice.  A voice so strong and pure, that hit every rise and sounded every word, singing clear as a bell “Blue heavens and you and I and stars kissing a moonlight sky, a desert breeze whispers a lullaby, only stars above us to see I love you!”   The voice was so expressive, this was no amateur I almost froze but dared not stop and break the spell.  I continued to play while trying to figure out who was singing. I was not aware of a professional singer in the building and neither dare I stop to look behind me.  I played on through the song and chorus, and all the time the voice behind me sang loud and strong, tone perfect so beautiful that gave me shivers.

At last, the song ended, and I was able to spin around. There in front of me was the tiniest, frailest of old ladies, propped up with cushions in a wheelchair.  “You have a beautiful voice” I gasped, “Yes” Hazel replied shyly, “I used to be a singer.”   Not wanting to lose the magic I delved into the stool again. “Do you know this?” I asked. “Yes!” Hazel knew them all and if she forgot the words, she rolled her wheelchair up to the piano and sang the written words to each new song.  I’m not sure how long our impromptu concert lasted, only that my father sat engrossed, and a group of nurses had gathered around the door.  “Why Hazel! We had no idea you have such a lovely voice!”  We were so absorbed that we almost missed the dinner hour and reluctantly had to fold up the  piano, the two budgies went back to their silent perches and Hazel and my father were wheeled into the dining room. 

As my mom and I grabbed our coats to leave we looked into the dining room window to see Hazel and my father sharing a table and in animated conversation.   There was an energy and vitality in my father that I have not seen in an age.

So, the moral of this story is: One: Music has power; and Two: you do not judge a book by its proverbial cover.  All over the world there are wonderful talented people trapped in that lonely no-man’s land of Alzheimer.  They have wonderful stories and talents of which we know nothing.   So, as we gather around our family holiday tables, let us not forget the vacant chairs, the Ronalds and Hazels of this world, not quite with us but struggling in a different world for which they have no escape.   My father never did play the piano again, but thanks to Hazel we did have one more concert before he died. 

After silence, that which dome nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

Aldous Huxley

 #alzheimer #long -term-care# #ageing