A Christmas Song

In all the commotion of coming home on Friday night and kicking off the week long sickapalooza in my household I meant to blog about a touching moment. 

Our Girl Scout Troop has gone to the local nursing home for the past 6 years to sing Christmas Carols.  It is not always easy.  The first time we went, I think all of us were a little freaked out at the hallway lined with wheelchairs filled with slackjawed, glazed eyed residents.  We were in the dementia ward and the caregivers had lined them up to take them to the dining hall.  It made me rethink the whole community service idea for 5 and 6 year olds. 

But thankfully we decided to just do what we came to do and started to sing.  It turned out great.  The residents liked it.  And we found that they had other residents other than then the dementia ward.  It made it easier as we moved along to see people that were able to interact with the kids and looked more like their grandparents.  These people live in the rehab section. 

I won't lie to you.  I have worked in healthcare for a long time but demetia patients always are hard for me to bear.  They frighten me a little as they can be aggressive and unpredictable.  This worried me with the kids each year.  Plus it's hard to view vacant eyes. It saddens me to no end.  I think the kids actually do  better with this section of the nursing home than I do if I am honest with myself. 

It felt like we were running the gauntlet to get to the "happier" side of the home. 

A few years back, one of the parents who is a nurse came along. She plays guitar and she really added to the sea of tiny voices as we walked the halls singing from door to door.   The year she joined us, something changed.  We no longer ran through the dementia ward.  We stayed and sang several songs.  And she would talk to them.  Even though they didn't answer.   She had us sing the old hymns and some of them got sparks in their eyes.  Some started to cry.  I saw a few lips move. 

It made me want to cry.  

And so every year we have repeated this process.  Every year, I grow less wary of that chain of residents in the hall.  Less intimidated.  The girls enjoy themselves along the entire route through the home.

But that is not the moment I wanted to really blog about.  I needed to tell you a little back story.

This past Friday, we went into the hall and the girls sang like angels. We had made our way down past the dementia wing and were moving into the rehab section.   One gentleman that was quite engaged and not one that I would have pegged as having dementia, was singing and thanking the girls after each song.  His nurse had to move him into his room for a moment and then brought him back out.  The girls sang a few more songs and he sang right along. Very sure of the words and never faltering.  He thanked the girls again and again.   A woman was now standing with him.  Tears were in her eyes.  She had been in his room and came out part way through the singing.   He motioned to her and then whispered something in her ear.  She smiled and teared up even more. 

She grabbed his nurse who was happening by and half whispered to her:  "He recognized me! Of course, he thinks it's 30 yrs ago and we're at church but he recogonized me!" 

And that dear readers is when I started to cry in earnest. 

The power of music is not to be underestimated.

And this is why I take my children to do these types of community service, even if it is uncomfortable.  I want them to be able to learn compassion. I want them to see small victories like this.  I want them to know that love comes in many forms and isn't always easy.   I want them to see the power they have to transform a life for the better.