What led you to get involved with A Musical Heart?
I first began bringing music into health care facilities while playing in the Knoxville Symphony. The KSO has a program called “Music and Wellness” whose central mission is to bring live music into health care facilities. I was lucky enough to be there at a time where there was a grant available to 5 musicians to enroll in the Music Healing and Transition Program (MHTP). I found myself playing at a hospice, rehabilitation center, and hospital, which included working in the Neonatal Intensive Care, Oncology, and Cardiovascular units. I loved doing this work. When I moved to DC I felt strongly about continuing it. A fellow CMP (certified music practitioner which is the title you earn after completing the MHTP training) told me about Nina and I knew immediately that I wanted to connect with her.
How does playing for the public differ from playing for a single person through A Musical Heart?
For me, the experience of doing the work for A Musical Heart is healing not only for the patient, but for me as well. Sometimes when musicians perform, they can get so caught up in judging their performance that they become disconnected from the beauty and expression of the music. When you go into a space with a patient, you’re there for the patient. That music is for the patient and each session is unique. My wish to be there for the patient almost always overrides the judgmental mind, especially when you’re with someone who’s at the end of their life. Witnessing someone heal through music also reminds me that I can allow myself to do the same. It’s healing and transformative for both of us. It brings me back to the core reason I became a musician: because I love music!
Could you describe an experience in which you felt your music aided or lifted the spirit of a hospice patient?
The experience that comes to mind is one of my very first visits. The patient was non-verbal and I found them curled up in a ball on the bed. Their muscles were contracted and the breathing seemed shallow and restricted. I began to play tentatively, unsure of how they would respond. As I played their muscles started to relax, and they started to adjust their position in the bed. I started to feel more confident, and I continued to play. They began to stretch their legs out and roll onto their back. By the end of the session, the patient’s body was completely elongated and it appeared softer. They looked a lot more comfortable and appeared to be breathing with more ease. The room felt quiet and peaceful. The patient and I never spoke a word to each other (except for my initial attempt to speak to them at the beginning), yet I felt like we shared a powerful experience.
How does playing for hospice patients inspire you?
Live public performances can change people’s lives, but you don’t necessarily see it. In this setting you see it and feel it. As I am playing, I can sense that my love for music can also be of service to the world and is not just fulfilling some kind of selfish desire. When I see someone receive the music in a whole-hearted way that can bring anything from laughter, joy, cathartic relief, or peace it also reminds me of its power which inspires me to keep on the path I am on.
What is it like being an integral part of A Musical Heart?
I feel grateful to be in a community of musicians doing this work who also come from a classical background. I think it’s a unique position to be in. As of now, there aren’t many musicians who do this work and also perform professionally in the classical world. I love that A Musical Heart provides that community. While I do love doing this work, it comes with many challenges. The energy and love my colleagues have for it are inspiring. Each person has their own unique style, and I will often learn from the stories and ideas they share.
What does the training in classical music on this level, of your being a professional, give you when you go into this setting with hospice patients?
Our background allows us to not worry about technical execution on our instruments, which as a result, allows us to give more energy and attention to the patient. It also gives us a larger chest of tools to draw from. For example, we can change our articulation in a heartbeat; sometimes more space between the notes is needed and sometimes more connection is needed and these levels might vary throughout a session. We can also change our dynamic level and still have a beautiful sound without a problem; I have belted out my sound like I would on a stage for someone who was really struggling with their hearing and I have also played so soft that I could barely hear myself, but this was necessary for a patient who was extremely sensitive to sound. We can also carry around a wide variety of repertoire. I carry around a tablet with hundreds of pieces on it. If a patient requests a specific song and I don’t know it, sometimes I can download it onto my tablet, which allows me to sight-read it for them. While playing patient requests isn’t necessarily needed for this work, I do find that it can bring something extra special to a session.
Say you go into a room with a nonverbal hospice patient. Can you give me some sense how you intuit or decide what to do? If there’s someone else present sometimes they can sometimes assist in giving me some direction, but if not, I will just start playing based on instinct and watch how the patient responds If something tightens, an eyebrow furrows, a fist clenches, a shoulder starts to rise, or anything similar to that, then I know I need to change what I am doing. This is the benefit of live music. We can change and adjust things within a breath. Sometimes a patient will seem to like something for the first part of a session and the suddenly seem to not like that anymore, so again, I adjust and try something else.
Has someone actually passed while you’re playing?
Yes, this has happened on two occasions. I was alone with the patient the first time I experienced this. The family had stepped out of the room to talk while I continued to play for the patient. The breathing was shallow and slow, but that is not abnormal, so I was not anticipating how close they were to death. All of a sudden without any struggle, they stopped breathing. Sometimes there can be large gaps in between breaths, so I wasn’t sure at first if what I was seeing was what I thought it was. After I realized that they had indeed passed, I continued to play for a little longer as this was taught in my training. The music would have been the last thing they would have heard. I later I found out that the patient had been an organist.
The second time was just a month or so ago. This session involved a caregiver who sat close to me as I played. Again, the breathing was slow but there wasn’t anything unusual to tip me off that death was so close. The caregiver requested Christmas music for the patient, and I didn’t think it would hurt to see if the patient responded positively to this, so I played a number of slow soothing Christmas songs. The patient did appear to look at peace when the session came to a close. I then moved to a bed that was next to the patient’s bed and began to play for the patient there. As I played, the caregiver of the previous patient exclaimed in a panicked tone, “He is not breathing, he is not breathing! I think he has passed.” A nurse arrived pretty quickly to confirm that this was true. I wrapped up the session with the patient I was with without rushing and stood with the caregiver for some time before exchanging a hug.
Briefly provide highlights of your education and musical career.
I’m an Italian violinist with 18 years of extensive experience in symphony and chamber orchestras, opera, and violin education. After receiving my BA in violin from the Instituto Pietro Mascagni in Livorno, I debuted in the Orchestra Giovanile Italiana. I also played as a Concertino violinist in the Florence Symphonietta, under the direction of Maestro Pietro Bellugi.
Subsequently I joined the Puccini Festival Orchestra in Lucca, specializing in opera repertoire. In 2013 I moved to the United States and played with the Takoma Ensemble Chamber Orchestra. I currently work with the choreographer Mimmo Miccolis and the Washington Ballet.
What led you to become involved in A Musical Heart?
When my Dad was sick with cancer at the hospital, I played for him. The music was the only means of communication with him, and I decided I would do for other people.
When I arrived in the United States and tried to make sense of my new life, I was lucky enough to meet Nina and learn about her incredible project. I’m lucky and happy to be part of the Musical Heart family.
How does your experience playing for a public audience differ from playing for a single hospice patient?
Playing for an audience creates expectations in those who listen and in those who play; it creates both satisfaction and disappointments. Playing for one person creates a different intimacy. It becomes a conversation made of looks and emotions. As you can not foresee a patient’s reactions, you cannot even foresee yours; each time it will be like the first time. For a patient you will always be precious, because you are there to give the most important thing you have – your time. Your music is just for him and becomes “unique”. For a public concert the program is established beforehand, and there is no room for changes. Music for a patient can’t be established beforehand, because even a single note can be what the patient needs.
Sharing music in a concert hall puts the musician in a privileged position, where he or she is master of what happens. In front of a patient you are vulnerable. A person at a concert is usually glad to be there, but patients in hospice often have a different mood because of pain or the nearness of death. When they listen to music, they probably think about the past, the story of their life. Sometimes they don’t ask for you to play, but usually they relax and accept your presence and your music. I have to be completely sensitive to the patient and go with no agenda. I am not the protagonist. They are.
Caterina Vannucci, violinist for A Musical Heart
Please describe a memorable, touching moment in which you felt your music truly aided and/or lifted the spirits of a hospice patient.
I believe that every achievement, like a smile, a tear, or a breath that changes its rhythm with music, is a special and unforgettable memory.
One memory that will always stay with me is when I visited with a patient who had once been a violinist. During the visit the wife brought him his old violin. The patient started to play, but no sound came out; he was physically unable to do it. I moved where he could not see me, and I started to play.
I will never forget the joy he had when he believed that he could still play the violin. His eyes brightened. The feeling he was still playing was the only thing that could relieve his pain at that moment. It is for these moments that you choose to do what you do.
Love is Stronger Than Death : The Mystical Union of Two Souls
Bourgeault, Cynthia. New York: Bell Tower, 1999
“Bourgeault, an Episcopal priest and professor of theology, met Brother Raphael Robin in 1990 while attending a Colorado training workshop in centering prayer. The elderly monk lived in seclusion in a mountain cabin. The romantic yet platonic relationship that ensued between the 50-year-old Bourgeault and the 70-year old hermit lasted five years, until his death. Both believed that a relationship can continue beyond this life, and here Bourgeault describes her search for that connection after Robin’s death. The unusual love story is told from a girl-meets-boy perspective. Though some readers will be turned off by the emphasis on the after-death relationship, others will enjoy this well-written telling of an unconventional intimacy. [The book will appeal to those interested in] mysticism, inner transformation, or dealing with grief.” — Leroy Hommerding, Citrus Cty. Lib. Inverness, FL, Library Journal, 03630277, 7/1/1999, Vol. 124, Issue 12
“This is a most unconventional love story: two aging individuals in search of God meet and immediately recognize ‘the beloved’ in the other. Together they attain what they could not do alone. They discover the highest form of human love, a love that joins them as one soul and defies death. This is a spiritual book about human passion.”
— Isabel Allende, author of The House of the Spirits (quoted on amazon.com)
Final Gift : Understanding the Special Awareness, Needs, and Communications of the Dying
Callanan, Maggie and Patricia Kelley. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2012
“This book is aimed at helping the reader understand the “special awareness, needs and communications of the dying.” It was written by two hospice nurses who have been at the bedside of numerous terminally ill patients and their families. It describes “nearing death awareness,” the sometimes puzzling changes that occur as a person nears death. In the final days and hours of life, dying people often make statements or gestures that don’t make sense and seem to indicate confusion. But this book makes a strong case that we need to listen closely to the dying because they are far more aware and in control of the dying process than most of us realize. This book is comforting, but it is also a practical guide for dealing with death. Reading it after my mother’s death helped me make sense of the experience.” — Parker-Pope, T. “Lessons on dying: Essential books to help understand life’s last moments.” Wall Street Journal, August 2, 2005.
Egan, Kerry. New York: Riverhead Books, 2016
“Lessons about life from those preparing to die. A longtime hospice chaplain, Egan shares what she has learned through the stories of those nearing death. She notices that for every life, there are shared stories of heartbreak, pain, guilt, fear, and regret. Every one of us will go through things that destroy our inner compass and pull meaning out from under us, she writes. Everyone who does not die young will go through some sort of spiritual crisis…The author’s anecdotes are often thought-provoking combinations of sublime humor and tragic pathos. She is not afraid to point out times where she made mistakes, even downright failures, in the course of her work. However, the nature of her work means living in the gray, where right and wrong answers are often hard to identify. A moving, heartfelt account of a hospice veteran.” — “On Living,” Kirkus Reviews, 19487428, 8/15/2016, Vol. 84, Issue 16
Being Mortal: Medicine and what Matters in the End
Gawande, Atul. New York: Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company, 2014
“Dr. Gawande’s book is not of the kind that some doctors write, reminding us how grim the fact of death can be. Rather, he shows how patients in the terminal phase of their illness can maintain important qualities of life.” — Wall Street Journal (quoted on amazon.com)
“Beautifully written . . . In his newest and best book, Gawande has provided us with a moving and clear-eyed look at aging and death in our society, and at the harms we do in turning it into a medical problem, rather than a human one.” — The New York Review of Books (quoted on amazon.com)
Being with Dying: Cultivating Compassion and Fearlessness in the Presence of Death
Halifax, Joan. Boston ; Boulder: Shambhala, 2008
“Joan Halifax reflects intensely on the process of dying. Her underlying theme is that being with the dying can make us ever more present in life. She suggests that the process of coming to terms with dying can be transforming. The book has a spiritual flavor and is told from the perspective of a wise elder. Each chapter begins with a story to illustrate a lesson and ends with a meditative reflection.
The book begins with a discussion of language and of a personal life philosophy and then explores many arenas of life. These include questions of life priorities, finding truth and meaning, letting go of fear, and the possibility of communities of care. Halifax also touches on existential areas related to the dying process such as love, forgiveness, appreciation, and surrendering to the dying process. She finishes the book with an interesting discussion about grief and the care and respect of a body after death. The book is a prescription to achieving fulfillment and meaning in life in the Buddhist tradition.” — Dahlin, Constance. 2010. “Being with Dying – Cultivating Compassion and Fearlessness in the Presence of Death.” Journal of Palliative Medicine, 13, no.1: 88-89.
“In this moving meditation on palliative care, Halifax tells a story about a dying Zen teacher who confesses to his students: “Maybe I will die in fear or pain. Remember there is no right way.” This sentiment forms the core of a book that provides practical and philosophical guidance to caregivers. Drawing on her 30 years of experience in the “contemplative care of the dying,” Halifax honestly enumerates the challenges of being with the dying while exalting it as “a school for unlearning the patterns of resistance… [it] enjoins us to be still, let go, listen, and be open to the unknown.” According to Halifax, “bearing witness to dying” can teach innumerable lessons to the living-assuming “we give up our tight control strategies, our ideas of what it means to die well.” Halifax is a Zen priest, and while many of her teachings derive from Buddhism, her supremely readable book will attract readers of all faiths who will appreciate her clarity and compassion and the poignancy of these stories of ordinary people facing their final hours with quiet courage.” — “Being with Dying: Cultivating Compassion and Fearlessness in the Presence of Death.” Publishers Weekly, 00000019, 4/21/2008, Vol. 255, Issue 16
When Breath Becomes Air
Kalanithi, Paul A. New York: Random House, 2016
“A neurosurgeon with terminal lung cancer writes here about his own dying — and one of the oddest discoveries he shares is the fact that after his diagnosis, he has to live an entirely different life. Who knew that a massively truncated future would inflate to such intimidating proportions? You’re finished, so who can you be in the time you have left? Kalanithi’s own answer is contained in this essential book. — “Teeming with death.” New Scientist 234, no. 3121 (April 15, 2017): 44. (quoted on amazon.com)
In his sublime “foreword [that] might be better thought of as an afterword,” Abraham Verghese reveals that he came to know Kalanithi “most intimately when he’d ceased to be.” That, too, is true of every listener here. Neurosurgeon Kalanithi died in March 2015 from lung cancer at the age of 37 and was, by all accounts, an exceptional human being. This posthumous release is an exquisite treatise on how to live. — Hong, Terry. 2016 “When Breath Becomes Air.” Library Journal 141, no.5:79-82. (quoted on amazon.com)
Visions, Trips, and Crowded Rooms: Who and what You See before You Die
Kessler, David. Carlsbad, Calif: Hay House, 2010
“David Kessler writes of a world that is rarely talked about, much less examined with such sensitivity. His stories reveal dimensions of the death experience that are anything but depressing, and at times absolutely joyful. In a book filled with intriguing and inspirational tales, Kessler makes a compelling argument that death is not the end.” — Marianne Williamson (quoted on amazon.com)
Healing into Life and Death
Levine, Stephen. Garden City, N.Y: Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1987
“While working with the terminally ill, Levine, director of the Hanuman Foundation’s Dying Project, discovered an interesting phenomenon. In preparing for death, many were being healed. Levine also noticed that those who became physically well were often in better health than they had been before. Further study led him to conclude that the physical healing was a by-product of a new balance of mind and heart. Vivid case histories of patients are used to illustrate how individuals learned to let go, become open to life, and stop struggling against illness, pain, and death. Levine discusses meditation and how to use it to “heal into life and death.” This approach is certainly not for everyone, but for many terminally ill patients and their families it may offer new hope and peace.” — Mary L. Kirk, Univ. of North Carolina at Wilmington Lib., Library Journal (quoted on Amazon.com)
Beyond Sympathy: What to Say and do for Someone Suffering an Injury, Illness Or Loss
“A great book for everyone who is trying to be there for someone they care about! As a grief counselor, I still consider this the best book published for those who are in a supporting role.” — Judy Brigham (Amazon customer review)
The Five Invitations: Discovering what Death can Teach Us about Living Fully
Ostaseski, Frank. New York: Flatiron Books, 2017
“Frank is a pioneer in mindful care at the end of life. He embodies the wisdom and compassion he shares in these magical and compelling pages. You feel it instantly, because it is real, and it is really about you and your life.” — Jon Kabat-Zinn, founder of MBSR and author of Full Catastrophe Living and Coming to Our Senses (quoted on amazon.com)
“This book distills a compassionate shepherd’s lifelong experience with death and dying.” — Bill Moyers, journalist, social commentator, and producer of “On Our Own terms: Moyers on Death and Dying” (quoted on amazon.com)
“These moving teachings can open your heart and change your life. For decades, Frank has been a compassionate guide to thousands of people facing death. In The Five Invitations, he shares his timeless wisdom, beautifully, as a blessing to all.” — Jack Kornfield, international Buddhist teacher and author of A Path With Heart (quoted on amazon.com)
“As a physician, I often work with people who view death as the ultimate isolating experience, solitary confinement for eternity―the ultimate dark terror. In this extraordinary, eloquent, and powerful book, Frank Ostaseski reveals how we can transform this darkness into a bright light (brilliant in every way), a return to the source, the ultimate in intimacy, healing, and meaning―the essence of love. What could be better than that?” — Dean Ornish, M.D. and New York Times bestselling author of The Spectrum (quoted on amazon.com)
“The Five Invitations is a remarkable book, one that is deeply needed by all of us. Five invitations to live our lives fully, in the present, all the way through. Frank Ostaseski, whose journey spans over three decades of creating and participating in the hospice movement, imparts timeless wisdom that should inform our every day: How to embrace uncertainty and live with joy, peace, and acceptance. This is not a book about death, it’s a book about life and living. Buy it, share it, live it―I know I will.” — Henry S. Lodge, M.D., Robert Burch Family Professor of Medicine, and coauthor of the Younger Next Year series (quoted on amazon.com)
“Frank Ostaseski speaks with clear wisdom and deep compassion. Sharing stories and insights from his decades of working with people at the very end of their lives, his ultimate revelation has to do with how meaningful, in both our living and our dying, is the capacity to be open to and present in grace. His words offer much worthy of contemplation and his service to all of us is worthy of deep respect.” — Kathleen Dowling Singh, author of Grace in Dying: How We Are Transformed Spiritually As We Die and The Grace in Aging: Awaken As You Grow Old (quoted on amazon.com)
The Bright Hour: A Memoir of Living and Dying
Riggs, Nina. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2017
“Poet Riggs (Lucky, Lucky) has lived under the shade of both a celebrated and a disheartening family tree. The great-great-great-granddaughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, “one small spot,” in her late 30s, and she can name a raft of relatives suffering from the same disease, among them her paternal grandfather. Other family cancers included her mother’s multiple myeloma. This memoir travels the stages of Riggs’s illness, along with the author; her husband, John; and their two boys, Freddy and Benny, as she relates past experiences and current anxieties—her cancer metastasizes and is declared incurable. Riggs quotes RWE when it fits (and it always seems to), as well as one of his subjects, philosopher Michel de Montaigne. She reminds us that we are all in this world until we leave it; the gallows humor surrounding her mother’s funeral will make readers howl guiltily but appreciatively. VERDICT Whether confronting disease or not, everyone should read this beautifully crafted book as it imbues life and loved ones with a particularly transcendent glow. [Nina Riggs died on February 26, 2017.] — Fox, Bette-Lee. “The Bright Hour: a Memoir of Living and Dying.” Library Journal 142, no.6 (April 2017): 103-104.
“Nina Riggs did not feel prepared when she learned that a small spot in her breast was malignant . . . [She] was only 37. Her sons, Freddy and Benny, were eight and five; she was not ready to leave them. Merrymaking had its place, but it didn’t address her concerns. And the afterlife, if it existed, was unknowable.
So Riggs, a published poet, turned to writing as a way to shape and contain her experience . . . Riggs is neither spooky nor gloomy. Her book’s title comes from a journal entry by Ralph Waldo Emerson — her great-great-great grandfather — in which he praises morning, a “moist, warm, glittering, budding and melodious” time when one can “cease for a bright hour to be a prisoner of this sickly body” and “become as large as the World.” Riggs’s love of the world shines through every chapter, even as the ground shifts beneath her.” — “The Bright Hour: A Memoir of Living and Dying” by: Neff, LaVonne, Christian Century, 00095281, 10/11/2017, Vol. 134, Issue 21
The Violet Hour: Great Writers at the End
Roiphe, Katie. New York: The Dial Press, 2016
“In this absorbing and affecting book, Roiphe (In Praise of Messy Lives, 2012, etc.) chronicles how Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, John Updike, Dylan Thomas, and Maurice Sendak dealt with what Freud called the “painful riddle of death.” She chose them because she always “felt some heat coming off their writing.” The last thing Sontag wanted to do was die. She was ferocious in her fights against three cancer attacks. She finally succumbed to cancer of the blood but not before enduring as a last resort great suffering and pain from a blood transfusion procedure using near-lethal doses of chemotherapy. She didn’t die; she just wore out from trying so hard to live. Roiphe notes that her hospital rooms always looked like her office at home. Freud approached his impending death from necrosis in his mouth, brought on by years of smoking his beloved cigars (he never quit), with a scientific stoicism. He finally gave up, and his private doctor performed euthanasia. Updike had been writing about death (and sex) since he was young; he often had death panics. When he accepted the fact that his lung cancer would kill him, he turned to poetry, urgent to finish Endpoint. “If style could defeat death,” writes Roiphe, “Updike would have.” Ferociously alcoholic, Thomas turned his preoccupation with death into ragingly beautiful poetry. His death at 39, Roiphe writes, was “both a great shock and utterly anticipated.” Sendak, who kept Keats’ “original death mask” in a guest room, was also obsessed with death and, Roiphe notes, wrote about it constantly in his books. He died at 83 from a stroke. As he told one interviewer: “I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready.” An epilogue about James Salter, who died just before Roiphe finished her book, completes this beautiful and haunting work.Never overly sentimental, this is a poignant and elegant inquiry into mortality.” — Kirkus Reviews, 2016 Bestbooks
“Now, 35 years on, here it is. The thread has been woven into an investigation of mortality as revealed through the lives of six “great” writers. “I want to see death,” [Katie Roiphe] writes in a strange, half-apologetic prologue to a book which is itself rather strange and apologetic. But to be clear: when she says “see”, she has in mind shelves rather than hospice beds; novels and poems rather than monitors and morphine. Her subjects are Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, John Updike, Dylan Thomas, Maurice Sendak and James Salter, names she chose mostly by instinct: “I’ve picked people who are madly articulate, who have extraordinary and abundant imaginations or intellectual fierceness, who can put the confrontation with mortality into words – and in one case images – in a way that most of us can’t or won’t.”
John Updike also worked at the end, turning “pain into honey” with a book of poems. His deathbed personality was cheerful, drollness being, as Roiphe puts it, more important to him than air; but when a clergyman telephoned him, his gratitude – “I loved him, bless his hide” – was undercut by the knowledge that a priest’s wares only really make sense to “the terrified”. Dylan Thomas, in New York and on a bender, did not rage against the dying of the light, so much as rampage: in the days before he finally drank himself to death, he took Benzedrine that he might stay up a little longer; he also went to a party with whose hostess he had sex upstairs, even as his mistress drank gin and tonic below. Finally, there is Maurice Sendak, who was obsessed by death, but who also, Roiphe believes, found it beautiful. He drew those he loved as they were dying. If this sounds strange, Roiphe understands: in writing her book, she believes, she is doing something not dissimilar. — Cooke, R. “The violet hour: Great writers at the end” by Katie Roiphe (review. The Observer, April 17, 2016)
Waking the Spirit: A Musician’s Journey Healing Body, Mind, and Soul
Schulman, Andrew, Marvin A. McMillen, and Writer of Foreword. New York: Picador, 2016
“Andrew Schulman has chronicled his amazing journey in a book that should be read by everyone, not only by doctors, caregivers and musicians. ‘Waking the Spirit’ recounts Andrew’s own miraculous recovery in an ICU when he was literally brought back to life. His profound discoveries related to healing and self-healing through music will astound the reader.” — Liona Boyd, author of In My Own Key: My Life in Love and Music (quoted on amazon.com)
“In the grand tradition of Oliver Sacks’ Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain, Schulman cannily narrates stories of the ways that music can bring healing not only to the broken spirit but also to the broken body.” — No Depression, Journal of Roots Music (quoted on amazon.com)
“With a winning combination of anecdotal bedside stories, personal experience, and the research of neuroscientists, neuromusicologists, and fellow musicians, [professional guitarist Schulman] offers evidence of the calming, stabilizing, and synchronous (‘entrainment’) physical effects music therapy can have on a patient’s nervous system, pain, and overall health. . . An inspirational testament to the limitless benefits of music and its role in health care.” — Kirkus Reviews (quoted on amazon.com)
A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows through Loss
Sittser, Gerald Lawson. Expanded ed. Grand Rapids, Mich: Zondervan, 2004
“Every time someone asks me for my top-ten list of all-time favorite books, A Grace Disguised is on the list. No one could write about tragedy and suffering at this level of meaning without possessing Sittser’s level of authenticity and depth of character.” — Marty, Peter W. 2010, “5 books for ministry” Christian Century 127, no.9: 29.
Animals in Spirit: Our Faithful Companions’ Transition to the Afterlife
Smith, Penelope. New York; Hillsboro, Or: Atria Books; Beyond Words Pub, 2008
“Those who live with and love animals dread the moment when their beloved companions will leave them. Smith, an animal communicator for more than 30 years, and author of two books on talking with the creatures, provides a unique and detailed account, from the animals’ perspective, on the ways they transition from the physical to the spiritual realm. …Readers open to Smith’s claims about animal communication or who grieve departed furry friends will find much in these pages to offer comfort and hope. — “Animals in Spirit: Our Faithful Companions’ Transition to the Afterlife.” Publishers Weekly, 00000019, 9/24/2007, Vol. 254, Issue 38
Four Funerals and a Wedding: Resilience in a Time of Grief
Smolowe, Jill. Berkeley, CA: She Writes Press, 2014
“When we are in the throes of grief, we often look for solace from those who are closest to us, family and friends. But sometimes even those whom we might depend up for support are unable to do so. For many, this could mean despair. For Jill Smolowe, it meant moving forward and translating what she learned about grief into resiliency, which she shares in her most recent book.” — Psychology Today review. June 2, 2014
“In Four Funerals and a Wedding, Smolowe jostles preconceptions about caregiving, defies clichés about losing loved ones, and reveals a stunning bottom line: far from being uncommon, resilience like hers is the norm among the recently bereaved. With humor and quiet wisdom, and with a lens firmly trained on what helped her tolerate and rebound from so much sorrow, she offers answers to questions we all confront in the face of loss, and reminds us that grief is not only about endings–it’s about new beginnings.” — Goodreads review
The Top Five Regrets of the Dying: A Life Transformed by the Dearly Departing
Ware, Bronnie. Carlsbad, Calif: Hay House, 2012
“The Top Five Regrets of the Dying is the most heart‐warming and heart‐breaking I have read this year. It is encouraging inspiration for carers and chaplains, for others who work with or are related to people who are old or dying, and for anyone interested in grappling with deeper questions of life.” — Cronshaw, Darren. 2012. “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying: A Life Transformed by the Death Departed.” Australian E-Journal of Theology, 19, no.3: 254-55.
“After too many years of unfulfilling work, Bronnie Ware began searching for a job with heart. Despite having no formal qualifications or experience, she found herself in palliative care.
Over the years she spent tending to the needs of those who were dying, Bronnie’s life was transformed. Later, she wrote an Internet blog about the most common regrets expressed to her by the people she had cared for. The article, also called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying, gained so much momentum that it was read by more than three million people around the globe in its first year. At the requests of many, Bronnie now shares her own personal story.
Bronnie has had a colourful and diverse past, but by applying the lessons of those nearing their death to her own life, she developed an understanding that it is possible for people, if they make the right choices, to die with peace of mind. In this book, she expresses in a heartfelt retelling how significant these regrets are and how we can positively address these issues while we still have the time.
The Top Five Regrets of the Dying gives hope for a better world. It is a story told through sharing her inspiring and honest journey, which will leave you feeling kinder towards yourself and others, and more determined to live the life you are truly here to live. This delightful memoir is a courageous, life-changing book.” — Review on Goodreads
Tell us a little about your education and musical career.
I’ve been playing violin since I was 5. I grew up playing bluegrass fiddle along with my classical training in violin. From that I came to understand that music is to be shared in many ways.
I graduated Summa Cum Laude from Ohio University with a double degree in psychology and music, and received my Masters in violin performance from Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh, after which I attended America’s Orchestral Training Academy – the New World Symphony.
I freelance throughout the Washington, D.C. area, playing for many of the orchestras and choral groups in our area—at Strathmore, the Kennedy Center, and with the Baltimore Symphony. I also am the lead violinist with Quintango, a 5-person tango band that tours nationally and internationally. When playing for hospice, I feel I can bring many types of music to the occasion: classical, bluegrass, jazz, ballads—whatever is needed. Because my interests and training are multifaceted, almost anything I have heard I can play.
Eva Cappalletti Chao, violinist for A Musical Heart
What led you to get involved with A Musical Heart?
When my colleague and friend Nina Falk first started A Musical Heart, her intentions for it spoke to me because of my experience with my mother-in-law’s passing. We were with her during her last weeks at home with hospice care. She wanted music, so my (violist) husband and I would play for her. What I recognized in her amazing process was how grounded and calm I got in those moments. I have a harder time in social situations, but end-of-life provides the opportunity to get real: we’re going to connect or we won’t. It’s so calming and wonderful. Her passage was not necessarily an easy one; there were times when she was struggling. But to hold the space of it – to be near her and be part of that time, it was incredibly clear to me, I can be in this.
I found years later, when I was having my own children, women friends in Takoma Park asked me to be with them while they were giving birth. Those places do not scare me. I love places of transition, where superficiality is impossible. It feels centered and calm. I knew I would do this work. I just wasn’t sure when.
How does your experience playing for a public audiences differ from playing for a single hospice patient?
It’s night and day. Playing for a single hospice patient has nothing to do with performing at all.
On my first day at Casey House for Montgomery Hospice, I went to the nurse and asked, “Who would you suggest might be open to hearing violin playing on this ward?” The nurse said, “There’s a woman in the room at the end of the hall, she’s near end-stage,” so I walked to her room.
It’s my first day playing for patients and I feel a little worried. “What am I going to see? Will there be anything that will shock me so I lose my groundedness and my sense of being here in service?”
I went into her room and there this woman was by herself in the bed, eyes closed, and I’m just struck how beautiful she is. She just looks beautiful to me. After taking a deep breath I say, “Hello, my name is Eva. I’m a violinist and I’m here to accompany you on your journey.”
I closed my eyes and thought, “What would you like to hear?” Often, this is how it works; a song will come to mind, and I start playing that, and then maybe another song will come. Or I’ll be watching their breathing, it’s either calm or sometimes I sense they’re sort of unsettled, and I change the sounds, the tempi, the textures of the music. I can’t usually tell you what I’ve played when I leave the patient’s room except in this particular woman’s case, because as I was playing for her at some point she closed her mouth hard and I thought, “Oh! She’s more “here” than I thought.”
She looked so calm. She was breathing, and I was following her breathing like I’d been trained, and the thought went through, “You should play ‘Silent Night.’” I started to play ‘Silent Night’; I didn’t even think twice. I thought, “Oh, this is beautiful.” Then I thought, “Wait, what?! This is a Christmas song! Why am I playing this poor woman a Christmas song? It’s October! It doesn’t make any sense.” And just as I was getting to the part, “Sleep in heavenly peace…” I noticed she was not breathing anymore. The breath had stopped and she had let go. It’s my first day playing for hospice, and she had passed while I’m playing. What occurred to me after that was to play something else, because there was still a journey going on. I found myself playing “Amazing Grace,” and the ward nurse came in because of what she’d seen on her screen and said, “I think this woman has passed.” I said, “Yes, I believe she has. I’m just sort of playing it out.”
Afterwards I was talking with this same nurse and said, “It seemed she was there not that long before, because she really forcefully opened and closed her mouth.
The nurse said, “Ah, many people, right before dying, let the last breath out.” “Maybe” she said, “it’s the spirit leaving.” That was so humbling. What a gift. Every time, playing for hospice is a gift to me. Maybe someone else could look in and comment on what a gift I’m giving, but to me – how intimate, how humbling to have someone let go in my presence and connection.
Do you recall any moments when you feel your music truly aided or lifted the spirits of a hospice patient?
There was one woman who had been in hospice for quite a while. I went to play for her more than once. One day she wanted me to play some Christian rock by Josh Groban. She would croak along, in the voice she had at that point, but it was so heartfelt. There I was sight-reading Josh Groban, reading the sheet music off her friend’s ipad, and the patient was singing with me, “You’re not alone,” and I found myself completely brought to tears. It so speaks to her, that she’s not alone in this time. As she’s croaking, I’m playing the music she needs to say that, and suddenly I’m aware that she’s singing to ME: the gift flips around. I’m not there for her. She’s there for me. I’m the one crying, thanking her as I’m leaving, and she’s saying how important it was for her to know I got what she gets from the music.
Some of my favorite moments are simply with the “sleeping” patient in the bed. They’re not visibly responsive. They’re not talking, but they can hear. I engage simply using sound and I’m following their breathing, as they breathe and stop breathing, and then breathe again—the patterns that happen as they’re in that stage. To follow that, to be with them, it’s connective because I’m joining with them without words. The music is not even necessarily “music” to them, which is fine with me. When their breathing slows, I slow the music, or I’ll go up to a harmonic or something that’s a really light sound, and their eyebrows will go up in tandem with the sound. Then we fall back . . . and I’m just playing loops and patterns of sound and triplets. It’s so lovely to attend to a person with sound. Somebody else might say, “Oh, she’s sleeping. You don’t need to play for her, she’s not responsive right now.” But I feel there are so many ways to connect with a person who’s in that space without it being about people. It’s about sound vibrations connecting with human vibrations.”
Nurses have come up to me and said, “We want you to play over here. We can’t get this one to calm down. Let’s try music.” That’s easy for me. I say, “Yes!” It takes a few moments to assess, especially if the person seems physically uncomfortable, so in the beginning, I play songs/pieces. I start by finding what meets them. Sometimes if I’m going really slowly, and they’re uncomfortable, I’ll need to speed it up to meet their energetic level. Then I can begin to slow down the same tune, or move to some other tune in the same key, or something like that, and I connect as deeply as I can. Something shifts, the breathing calms down. They know the tune. I can see that now they’re following something organized: the song that they know, and their body settles more comfortably. And as I tell this experience, I recognize that I have no proof that that’s what’s happening, but that is what appears to happen, and that is what my instinct would say is happening. Very often they fall asleep somewhere in there, and that’s my favorite.
That’s your favorite?
Eva: Absolutely! What do you want for the person in that hospice bed? To be able to relax enough to let the body rest.
How does playing for hospice patients, inspire you (perhaps to help others, or in other ways), enrich your life, provide a greater sense of purpose in the world?
As a full-time professional performer, it’s easy to make being a musician a job, to lose sight of music’s effects on the people listening. I go to the concert venue, I read my notes, I do the techniques that I understand how to do. I have a skill set. It’s easy to just take care of the skills and not remember what it might mean to someone else. It’s very easy to walk off the stage and not have even given eye contact to anyone in the audience.
Being engaged with hospice patients allows me an opportunity to connect with something larger than my personality. For instance, I was once with a Korean woman, who barely spoke any English, as she attended to her dying husband. After playing for her husband in the bed, I gestured to her and asked, could I play for you? She opened her Korean hymnal. I played the notes while she sang in Korean for herself. It was so connective. With the trained skills that I have, I’m doing for her exactly what she needs in this moment, through sound, and we don’t even have a common language.
I can bring that understanding back to the stage. Back in the concert hall, even if I’m playing Beethoven 5th for the 30th time, and the first row of audience members is 20 feet away, I can tap into that awareness that there are people out there for whom this music is speaking in ways I can’t begin to know; that reignites my engagement.
For me, personally, having a combination of various stage performances and also being able to share violin music for hospice patients through A Musical Heart makes me fulfilled: I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing in this life. That’s so satisfying.
How does your work with A Musical Heart affect the families of hospice patients and the hospice or hospital staff?
The staff is always glad when we’re there. They can see a change in the patients and they’ve thanked me for my part in that process. I’ve had doctors and certainly nurses stop me in hallways to say how lovely, how beautiful hearing the music I play is as they attend to their business. I’ve also had clergy come and stand outside the door to say, “Thank you for giving me the time to settle into what I need to do.”
As for the families of the patients, I do my best to hold the presence, the space, for someone in pain or for the visitors that are uncomfortable. It’s so dear, this awkwardness, when they don’t know what to do and it’s so painful for them to let their beloved person go. Many families have invited me in at this really difficult time and even allowed the music to bring them to silence for a while. They allowed themselves intimacy. My wish is to offer them sound to invite them into presence, because when we’re in presence we’re not in fear. In presence, we can connect with ourselves, each other and with Grace.
Being a part of that, it all just feels like a gift to me, over and over again.
In 2012, Floyd Jones (https://www.floydjones.co) was awarded the Presidential Scholarship in the Arts in voice at his alma mater, George Washington University. Since receiving the award he has performed in premier venues across the country, from the Kennedy Center and Wolf Trap in Washington D.C. to the Apollo Theater in New York City, and has had the privilege of performing in concert tours across the globe.
Floyd is a 2017 Fellow at Venture for America, where he works with high growth startups and entrepreneurs to create jobs and revitalize emerging communities across the country. He currently lives in Maryland, where he serves as a worship leader at Epworth United Methodist Church and is currently working on an extended play record with his company Worthy Music Group.
Floyd Jones, vocalist for A Musical Heart
What led you to get involved with A Musical Heart?
During my senior year of college, I was looking for a way to continue singing throughout the D.C. area. I also wanted a unique way to serve others. When my choir director, Gisele Becker, introduced me to Nina, and Nina explained the mission of A Musical Heart, I was immediately hooked and knew that I found a new home.
Please provide a brief vignette about a memorable, touching moment in which you felt that your music truly aided, and/or lifted the spirits of a hospice patient.
Maybe one of the most PROFOUND experiences I have had since my journey with AMH began–I sang to an older woman with 3 family members around her. She was sleeping, but I asked the family if they would want me to sing to her and they all cheerfully accepted! I asked what type of music they would like for me to sing.
Her daughter said, “If you start singing hymns she will jump up and start singing with you!”
I just laughed, as did everyone else, for she had not really made any movements for quite some time. I sang some traditional hymns like “Because He Lives” and “It is Well,” and the craziest thing happened! Once I started singing, her mouth started moving along to the song!! It was so crazy, something I’ve never seen before! No words came out and her eyes were still closed, but her mouth was moving! She was right there with us! And most importantly her skin lightened up and her entire demeanor just seemed lighter. The family started to cry because they were so moved by the entire experience. It was extremely overwhelming and beautiful!
How does playing for hospice patients, inspire you (perhaps to help others, or in other ways), enrich your life, provide a greater sense of purpose in the world?
Singing for hospice patients inspires me a great deal, for it makes me pause and try to live my life in a more full and purposeful way. I have met people from all walks of life, with different backgrounds, races, and levels of ability, and the one thing that I realized is that death does not discriminate. Everyone will be in a place where they find themselves nearing the end of life–thus we must learn how to live our lives in a way that cares for and celebrates our spiritual, mental, and physical well-being. This process has led me to be more brave and to focus on how I will serve all types of people.
How is the experience of providing music for hospice patients different for you from performing in public?
Providing music for hospice patients is different because it isn’t really performing, it is a true service. I have to put myself in the position of mere servant. I can’t sing a particular song just because I feel like it. I have to sing a song that meets the patients’ needs and aids them in their development.
Other thoughts you would like to share about being an integral part of A Musical Heart?
A Musical Heart has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I never feel like I am giving the patients much, because every time I go, I feel as if I have been given more. I have seen so much struggle, yet so much strength and resilience in the patients and families I have been able to support. It reminds me continuously that one can truly find peace in any and every situation if only we look for it.
Today, March 1, the month of spring. A great day to launch our new website, and share our goals and news. We have two new musicians joining us. They are wonderful and well-suited to playing/singing for hospice patients. Read about Sarah Issaelkhoury, voice, and Gray Dickerson, violin, on the “Musicians” page. That makes seven of us, total. We hope to have many more, because the Washington, DC area has many hospice patients at any given time who would be comforted by music as they transition.
So our goals are to increase our musician roster, raise money to support the greater numbers, and make music available to more hospice patients at their bedside.
Another goal, more broad, is to make people, who are not facing death, more comfortable with the idea of their own death. By sharing some stories and experiences of patients near the end, and contributing to the current national conversations about end-of-life, people come to terms with their mortality. By doing so, it’s easier to live in the present without fear, more fully and alive now.