For most of my practice of coming alongside people in care or at the end of life, my harp has been the extension of me. It has traveled in ICUs, nursing homes, funerals, and celebrations of life. But for George, it couldn’t reach into the depths of his ears or into his soul for soothing, comforting, and connecting. George became profoundly deaf at the end of life. George, in his youth, was a very active and attractive young man with many skills athletically and also musically. Both he and his brother were incredible tenors in their church choirs from youth until their sixties. They sang duets and solos in church and with Gilbert and Sullivan Productions. It was actually there that George met the love of his life, Audrey, and they sang together. In my youth at church, George was often gowned in the choir garb, enjoying the music of the church and those “olde hymns”. Later, George’s father’s work as an assayer took him at the age of 16 to Jamaica, where he fell in love with the folk music of the isle. At home, he loved watching Don Messer’s Jubilee; country music was his soft spot. Often after dinner, he would start the turntable and listen to the crooning of the country and western storytellers. Aging, as they say, is not for the faint of heart. The loss of hearing was a huge adjustment for George, and the loss continued until even the hearing aids no longer worked. I would take Ruby, my little red harp, into the nursing home to play, and he would gently smile in his George way and shake his head that he heard nothing. This is where I became the student during the journey. George would bring out copies of his music, such as old hymns and lyrics of favourite love songs. These copies would be yellowed and delicately thin with age. He would begin to sing in his mellow tenor voice, and the memories flooded back. He shared the copies with fellow residences and staff. He would sing to them all. My job was to listen and take in his rich history of music that journaled the passages of his life. Our favourite haunt in the last nine years was Swiss Chalet, every Sunday evening. Often, our Jamaican staff would come out and sing to George. He really couldn’t catch the words the first couple of times, and then he would lip-read Diane’s words, “Come, Mr. Tally Man, Tally Me Banana,” and everyone at the table and surrounding tables would sing. George would randomly sing songs of the past during these dinners, remembering all the words as well as the moments these songs elicited. Then, the talk and connection went deep. His son, Peter, would take notes about all of these wonderful events of a man who lived a humble life well. Our portal into the life of George often came through old black-and-white photos, old hymn books, even old 78 records. He would smile, close his eyes, relax in his lazy boy, and the vocal music would begin. With the music came the stories of life traveling with his family, the depression, World War 2, meeting Audrey, raising his family, and connection with others through music. Even though he could no longer hear, he remembered and could still give the gift of song to others. The lesson is that music is so much more than sound; it is the connection, the stories, and the memories. We, as music care advocates, need not pass by someone who can’t hear as we may feel not useful, but to think beyond the physical sound into the memories of a song. The use of old pictures and hymn books helped us to enter into the past, as did the conversations cards of Music Care. Our job is one of connection and valuing the humanity of a soul. Music provides rich soil for connection. As our body ages and access to many things diminishes, we must still consider how to adapt our approach of using music to connect, through pictures, conversations, touch, and just being in space together sharing who we are. Shelley Neal is a special education teacher and program coordinator, therapeutic musician, and music care advocate in the Greater Toronto Area. Shelley uses music to deliver curriculum, support movement and language development and communication skills with non-verbal children. Her goal is to come alongside people and use music in whole person care.

I undertook the MUSIC CARE Certification program when I had journeyed through caring for my mother with Alzheimer’s. It was during my training, I learned how music works in terms of timbre, melody and rhythm and beat, music care domains and music care strategies. It helped me to support mom as the disease progressed. I continued to certify through Music Care and then I had the joy of teaching others the level 1 program Fundamentals of Music Care Theory and Context . I have loved coming alongside others in Long Term Care and using music to support giving voice of what is within one’s life, preventing isolation and loneliness, creating community. I enjoyed all it all. Then, I found myself once again in the Emergency Room with Tim, (my family member) as we were helping him home in his palliative journey. My “outside life” took a back seat and my inside hospital life began. Tim’s was failing and he was no longer able to open his mouth and swallow to obtain nutrient’s due to Parkinson’s . We tried various types of foods, textures and flavours, however, opening his mouth and swallowing remained inaccessible. Tim loved Glen Campbell and Rhinestone Cowboy . When he was a young man, he would repeated play this song until the LP was worn through. He was given a new Glen Campbell CD at Christmas and the song was welcomed back into our lives. There I was ,in my new environment on the tenth floor of the hospital, playing Rhinestone Cowboy. Tim sang along. He actually sang along! He moved his mouth, swallowed and sang along. We were able to get pureed food into his body. Later, the disease continued to ravage his body and Rhinestone Cowboy helped us connected with other such as the speech language pathologist, doctors, cleaning staff and nurses. We sang and danced together with the music and Tim smiled. He knew he was part of a community who loved him. As we knew the end was coming, I played music with a simple melody, 60 beats per minute and soft timbre on my harp to support Tim as he fell into sleep. Near the end, I used tonal music in simple phrases to support calmness matching his breath. Tim passed peacefully and gentle. Today, at his funeral our last song “Rhinestone Cowboy”. After hearing the importance of this song, all the people present joined in singing to honour the village of Tim that so lovingly cared for him. Music Care training has become a natural rhythm in my life to use with aging and sick family members, supporting young children’s learning and providing self-care when I was tired after intense caregiving.

Music is a convergence of notes, that vibrate with an energy that is connective and communicative with a power that transcends languages, culture and knowledge with a sublime beauty that can bring you to tears and to your feet to shout and dance in revelatory joy. One of the purest expressions of the human spirit that moves us collectively perhaps like no other art form that exists in the world. Picture the world holding candles and singing Imagine together to come together and heal after a tragic event, a couple dancing again to their wedding song fifty years later that are transported back to that very moment, in its feel and sublime beauty, a child, hearing his mother’s heartbeat that echoes through its body like a pow wow drum waking them to the wonder of the world and life. The extraordinary capacity of music to waken an elderly person from the tragic dormancy of dementia and enable them to sing every word, because it lives in the strongest part of their memory, their deepest and most profound connection to the glory, splendor and travails of life. Music is universally acclaimed to possess an almost supernatural, hypnotic allure that is steeped in folklore and legend, Robert Johnson selling his soul at the crossroads in a deal with the devil that gave him his incredible talent, the voodoo rituals of Haiti that crossed into New Orleans and it’s Cajun rhythms of the South, the music from Africa that travelled on slave ships and grew from the field hollers to gospel, blues and country and rock and roll that changed the world. In the complexity of Jazz and classical music we marvel at the convergence of harmonic notes and melody that speak to the very wonder of the universe itself. When we look back to our ethnographic roots, we find music in ritual and ceremony, steeped in traditions that supersede our modern understanding of 4/4 time and pop song simplicity and live deeply within us reminding us of our innate capacity to feel and be human. Ancient cultures wove music into the fabric of their lives that was beyond mere entertainment, but a reflection of life itself, celebrating birth, death, marriage, harvest, disaster and triumph. It was born of simple movements, a foot stomp, a clap, a shout to the heavens, shared with the love and depth of feeling that comes from ritual. This same depth of feeling we see in a Baptist Church or on the fields of a Pow Wow. The cry of the Pow Wow singer is like a thousand years of history, generations of families and stories intertwined around the rhythmic cadence that grips your heart and soul in a warm embrace. When I hear the sound of many hands in unison pounding the massive drum with all of their strength as if every hit is cleansing their very being, it is as if the entire Earth has moved. Perhaps it has, for this drum is a gift from the Earth mother and is blessed with the wisdom and love of the creator. In every chant I hear a voice from the past, loved ones come and gone, family circling around, warmth and love and acceptance of every frail part of humanity, glorious and broken. For that is love, a part of us that may have been in front of us our entire lives but perhaps obscured by doubt and fear. It is love that sets us free in that moment of acceptance of every part of ourselves. This is the healing. What we search for and hope for and what this most ancient of traditions offers if we will accept it, power, grace, beauty, hope and wonder at the majesty of life. This year when we gather for healing and remembrance on Sep.30 th , let us open our hearts to the healing power of tradition, open our minds to the beauty of culture, and grow together in this truth, so that we can work towards reconciliation and contribute willingly to the Indigenous resurgence that is a responsibility of citizenship and a moral obligation to humanity.

Yesterday, I joined with millions around the world, and watched the final good-bye to Queen Elizabeth II . I was deeply moved by the simplicity of the services at Westminster Abbey and St. George’s Chapel . Sure, there was the pageantry I expected from the Brits and the Anglican tradition. What I didn’t expect, and what continues to resound in me, is the silence that defined much of the mourning soundscape. Crowds in the streets were reverently silent. The church goers entered and held themselves in a quiet reverence. There was the 2 minutes of silence that was planned. And then there was the piper, the queen’s private piper, whose drones and melodic strains of the lament, Sleep, Dearie Sleep , faded into silence. While the music of the hymns, the solemn beats of the marches, the last post and the rich timbres of the pipe organs connected us in our grief, for me, it was the silence that was most poignant. Sometimes silence can be uncomfortable. It didn’t feel like that for me. The silence was a musical pause in the pageantry and commemoration for reflection and collective mindfulness, a pause from content. This pause of silence allowed me to look around and take in with wonder and gratitude, all that was unfolding in the Anglican ritual, the intentional planning, the message and spirit of a remarkable life – it gave me time to breathe and remember. Rituals of mourning are often intentional and hold their liturgies and traditions. For example, cremation and sprinkling ashes, shiva, 40 th day celebration, special meals, prayers, wailing, celebrations of life and keening – all have their religious and cultural histories and hold personal meaning for the mourners. Music plays a significant role in many of these mourning rituals. It appears so does silence. May we not be afraid and embrace the good things that come from silence in the soundscape of mourning.

The impact of COVID in care settings, specifically Long-Term Care, has been monumental with social programming being set aside for safety protocols and PPE. Although the movement to a more medical model of care makes sense from a safety lens, we are now realizing the devastating effect this has had on residents as they express helplessness, loneliness, isolation, and boredom. In December 2021, Patient Ombudsman, Craig Thompson, was interviewed about the recent report entitled “Honouring Voices and Experiences, Long-Term Care Home Survey” where he suggests hiring more Recreation Therapists to offset the impact of restrictions. Elaine, an 85-year-old woman with dementia was quoted as saying ‘I just wish someone would dance with me.’ She acknowledges that her physical needs were taken care of as she was clothed and fed, but her greatest desire was for someone to stop and dance with her. The music care approach has been taught for over 16 years by Room 217. Our Level 2 Music Care Training talks about the 5 human domains being spiritual, cognitive, emotional, physical, and biological and how music works to meet needs in all areas. Recreation Therapists are trained to understand mental, physical, psychological, social, and spiritual domains of residents and develop programs providing care based on the needs of residents. When music is used by Recreation Therapists, the outcome is better quality of life for all, staff included. Our upcoming Masterclass is open to anyone with Level 2 or 3 Music Care Training, and all LEARN and CERTIFY members. On August 18th, we will be hosting a Dance Therapist and Teacher, Katherine Mandolidis of Ballet Edmonton who will walk us through a series of music and movement that can be added as an everyday wellness routine or break. Join us for music, movement and conversation and let’s bring some light back into the lives of those that need the music most. In the meantime, let’s all seek inspiration from the viral video of Marta Cinta Gonzalez, a former ballet dancer living with Alzheimer’s, come to life when she hears the music of Swan Lake. Watch video Link to report noted in blog: https://www.trontario.org/files/Advocacy/TRO-LTC-Commission-Submission-Nov-2020.pdf