Thawing Out

Sometimes, the most accurate way for me to reflect on the quality of my day's work is whether or not I made someone cry.

That sounds a bit awful at first glance, doesn't it?

I know.

Maybe it's more accurate for me to say my day was especially successful if I helped someone cry.

Someone who ultimately found it beneficial to cry, to experience an emotional catharsis, but who, for whatever reason(s), was unable to access and express their turbulent emotions prior to the addition of music therapy.

Here's an incredibly common scenario. I often arrive to the bedside of a patient who is in the active dying process. The room is typically full of family members who love this person very much, are feeling all kinds of emotions about the person in the bed and about each other, and who have no idea what to do with themselves as they sit vigil, wanting to be present as their loved one takes their last breath.

I walk into these rooms and it's as if the oxygen has been removed. Everyone is usually standing stiffly, shoulders hunched, head down, not looking at the person in the bed or one another. Conversation is stiff and rare. It's like the whole family has been frozen by their inability to connect with the emotional and sensory elements of this intimate experience of sitting vigil for a loved one.

But something happens when I introduce music. From the very first note, the environment is changed. It's similar to the effect of adding music to a dramatic movie scene - access to emotions is easy. The family begins to thaw out almost immediately. Maybe someone looks up to make eye contact with me and finds themselves smiling because they remember that this was their father's favorite hymn. Maybe this child looks to her brother and says, "Do you remember Daddy singing this to us when we were kids?" And the smiles begin to mix with tears. Siblings reach for one another. The whole family begins to move, to talk, to laugh, to cry. They all move closer to the bed and provide loving touch to their dying loved one and to each other.

As we continue to share music, memories come rushing up to the surface and the family shares stories, laughter, and finds it easier to tell this departing family member that he or she is loved and will be missed. It's safe to look the dying process in the eyes and say goodbye. From frozen to warmth, these people are now more fully able to participate in and experience this pivotal moment in the circle of life. It's like the music weaves a protective container around them and holds a space in which they can be human, vulnerable, and authentic. We have transformed the vigil experience from one of terrible, interminable waiting, to a memory of shared family experience, love, and support.

So when I get home from work and my fiancé asks me how my day went, I can honestly say, "It was wonderful. I got so many people to cry!"