When we signed up to volunteer to play music for hospice patients, I didn’t realize how lucky we’d be with our first friend and how attached I would get. He died last night and today I am numb. I know the tears are coming. When someone says “hospice” to me, I picture people on their deathbeds who can’t even communicate, but now I know it varies widely. We met our first guy last December, and up until last week I was able to understand a lot of what he said during our weekly visits, even though he didn’t have any teeth. Some of the other residents in the facility he stayed in called him “Pops” because he was the oldest guy around (92). He was spunky and (most days) had a great attitude. It was obvious that he was a very kind soul - you could see it in his clear blue eyes.
Sometimes, especially earlier on when he was stronger, Ben would bring him an instrument to play. We were even able to prop a drum up on the footrest of his wheelchair several times. He would tap along on the drum with his finger tips and sometimes ask if he sounded okay. It didn’t matter to me one bit how it sounded, it was just so awesome that he could participate with us in making music. One day, Ben gave him one of his rattles. I’m not sure whether he liked playing it or chewing on it better, but both made me smile. When he was much younger he was in choir, and a couple of times we tried to play him some music he could sing with. When Donny was in Mexico, he asked about him a couple of times and when we told Donny, he brought him back a beautiful little strap as a gift. Thank you Ben and Donny for joining me on this hospice journey. I absolutely couldn’t do it without you.
Dear “Pops,”
It was such an honor to get to play music for and spend time with you as long as we did. You have no idea how much joy it gave me when you danced in your chair to our music. And seeing you grin? Priceless. Oh man I remember one time Ben was talking to you about one of the rhythms we play being a belly dancing rhythm. That was so funny. You made a joke about how those dancers should be careful because if they kept dancing like that they were going to get pregnant. We always loved hearing your jokes. I really wish we could have taken you out on a field trip to the city or really anywhere. Trust me, if it would have been possible we would have. I’m glad we were able to at least bring you to the courtyard to play music outside for you a few times.
There was only one day that when we arrived you told us you didn’t want to hear music but that we could go down the hall and play for other people. You said you had been crying all day about your mother who had died and the music would just make you more sad. I remember one day around that time you had said to me, “Do you know what it feels like when all of your family has died?” Of course I don’t, but man that must feel awful. I’m so happy that your wife was still around and that she lives close enough to visit you every day. We only really got to talk to her once a few weeks ago but it was so obvious how much she loved you and how dedicated she was to spending as much time as she could with you. I can only hope that some day if I’m in your situation that I have someone who loves me that much. I know that not many people have that blessing.
A few visits ago, I was having trouble understanding what you were saying and I kept asking, “What?” Then I clearly heard you say, “What? What? What? That’s all you ever say!” I know it must have been extremely frustrating for you to be difficult for people to understand. Hey Pops, I’m sorry I couldn’t understand you better and that I asked “what?” so often. I sincerely wanted to understand you so we could make sure you were getting what you needed. I sure hope that our presence and music outweighed that annoyance (I’m sure it did).
We’re going to miss you and will never forget you or your smile.
With love,
Melissa