Ukulele Tunes

A while back, I happened to be at the facility when the music therapist arrived to sing and play for my husband. The young man who was originally assigned to him has now been replaced by a young woman, and she's just as sweet and kind as can be. She selected a few tunes from my husband's youth, and I sang harmony to her melody. It was fun.

The thing is, I noticed how my husband's eyes lit up as she played and we sang. It dawned on me that listening to recorded music is nice, but it isn't the same as live music. The interaction is on a different level entirely. While my husband certainly liked the iPod playlist, there was more opportunity to catch a moment of clarity and connection with live music. So, I decided I would pick up our guitar and learn a few chords.

There was only one problem with that. The instrument, a classical acoustic guitar, was just too big for me to lug around, and my unaccustomed, clumsy fingers couldn't manage the string and fret distances. I tried. I failed. Don't judge me; I may return to fight another day.

Enter the ukulele! It arrived a few days after I ordered it online, and I learned three or four chords right away. Did you know you can play and sing a bunch of songs with only three or four chords? A few days later, I arrived at the facility with five whole songs in my repertoire. I tried to stay in a quiet corner with my husband for his "concert," but other residents gathered around for the entertainment. My playing was awful; but, on the plus side, my singing left something to be desired. They loved it.

In the ensuing weeks, I've learned more chords and more songs. Unfortunately, my husband appears to be in a declining state of engagement that seems to have started around the first of the year. I feel as though I've been a day late and a dollar short. Last Friday, he was on his bed in his room when I got there. I was happy to be able to spend some "alone" time with him, just the two of us. He almost started to smile when I greeted him, but didn't or couldn't, and he just turned away, vacantly looking up at the ceiling and over at the wall as I sang and played some familiar songs. Perhaps he was wondering who I was.

He didn't react much at all until I softly played "Nothing But the Blood of Jesus," an old standard written by a Baptist minister named Robert Lowry in 1876. And then he tried to whistle. The faint sound barely escaped his lips, but it went straight to my heart. 

At the end of each visit, I say the Lord's Prayer while holding my husband's hand, and then I pray Psalm 23 over us; but, this time, I began to sing the Lord's Prayer instead. As I did so, I noticed that he was folding his hands as if in prayer. I continued to strum the ukulele and hummed quietly as he fell asleep and started softly snoring, his folded hands relaxing and dropping to his chest. What a beautiful, peaceful moment it was.

My husband's body may be failing him. His cognitive ability may have left him. He is completely helpless and at the mercy of others for every aspect of daily living. But there is nothing wrong with his spirit.