There she sat, whispering "sweet nothings" into the distance.  Her gaze was reaching into the gentleness of something far beyond a world known to me.  

This was my first introduction to "M" as I took over for her professional caregiver.  I was to fill in the two hour space from the caregiver's departure until the return of "M"'s husband from his afternoon golf outing.  This was to be my first Tuesday afternoon with "M" as my guide.  

During our first few minutes alone, I found myself deeply attracted to her nature. I desperately wanted contact with her serene world that seemed to be somewhere way beyond my boundaries.  

However, this woman, several years my senior, was floating serenely within her own world.  Her lost whispered words and her distant gaze yielded no key for my entrance, and my desire for further exploration was quickly evaporating.  

I was succumbing to a lack of stimulation in our relationship and a slowing of my alertness.  Heavy eyes and increasing yawns made me wonder if I would remain alert enough to maintain my new responsibilities.  

Meanwhile, "M" attentively continued to investigate her peaceful alertness.  Sitting in her recliner with minimal physical movement, she maintained her constant visual contact with the distance with hardly a blink of her soft, warm eyes, all the while  continuing to frequently whisper her few undisclosed words into that same space. 

Initially, with our first sessions, I had worked hard to understand those whispers, but my 60 year old hearing organs failed to recognize most of her words, and those that seemed to nudge a significance within my brain, failed to make any cognitive sense. 

With our failure at verbal communication, I eventually resorted to taking my flutes and playing some old hymns.  Perhaps I could draw her back to my space with musical recollection.  

But she still stared somewhere beyond me, and I found myself doing "my thing" with my music as though she wasn't there.  Alert as ever, she would stare somewhere beyond, and continue her whisperings, oblivious to my musical notes.  

I continually studied her pupils and her breathing, hoping to see a response to my music.  But there was absolutely no noticeable indication of my desired impact. 

With each visit, I found myself more dragged down by my apparent lack of significance within her life.  My eyes would become heavier and heavier with our lack of contact.  Then, at the end of each visit I would leave, again realizing that I had missed that opportunity to be with and learn from "M". 

Wanting desperately to "meet" with "M", I finally decided to make a concentrated effort to discover where "M" was.  Knowing I was prone to expecting others to enter my world, I began our next visit by seeking to explore "M"'s .  Leaving my flutes in their case and not attempting to understand her whisperings, I instead hoisted my sensory antennae, hoping to perceive something from "M" on a less obvious plane.  

After about 15 minutes of relying only on my senses, not attempting to intellectually process what was happening, I experienced a "shift" into a deeper awareness of this woman's presence.  I was moved to pick up one of my flutes and began exploring some improvised notes based on my responses to M's presence.  But my spontaneous creations failed to link the two of us.   

Then I found myself reverting to some old hymns but at a tempo much, much quicker than the average ear would have desired.   "How Great Thou Art" moved up to the articulation and joy of a polka (not my usual laid back style).

Then, out the blue as I finished a very spirited "Simple Gifts",  I heard this clear and assertive voice respond with "I liked that".  Two or three other similar remarks concluded other melodies, and I was aware of higher energy level developing within us than I had ever experienced with our previous interaction.  We were truly open to each other in a new sharing way.

"M" had still more to teach me that afternoon.  Saliva had been slowing dripping from the left corner of her mouth.  On two or three occasions, I had reached for a Kleenex to wipe her chin, thus preventing the moisture from dripping on her delicate pretty sweater.   

A while later, I reached a third time to blot the corner of her moistened mouth.  But this time, she responded with a very dramatic recoil as she withdrew from my previously unannounced contact.

I was guilty again.  I had assumed I could enter "M"'s world from my perspective and she would follow.  What had made me think she was like a inert glass goblet set before me to wash and scour at my whim. 

From then on, I changed my approach.  I asked her permission before touching her cheek with the Kleenex.  I was left with the feeling she was pleased by my efforts to provide her care.  

Finally, as her husband arrived from his afternoon of golf, I packed up my instruments.  Not expecting a response, I said goodbye to "M" by telling her how much I enjoyed our sharing.  She quickly responded with an unexpected and fully assertive voice, saying she had also enjoyed our time.  Fueled by these wonderful break through, I left proudly excited and feeling the wondrous joys of our meeting and our discoveries.  

8/8/00

Since Anne (my wife) and I were both going to town, we decided to take one car with the awareness that I would walk the three miles from my doctor's appointment to "M"'s house.  I had plenty of time, and part of that distance was along the new river pathway that was just completed.  So I was looking forward to the experience.  

I had only gone a few hundred feet and my knee began to complain.  I knew I had made a mistake, but I was committed to the distance.  The pathway experience was good (outside of the knee), but I hadn't counted on the muggy weather that was creeping in.  The river was not the right place to be as the heavy atmosphere was really settling there.  

By the time I arrived at "M"'s, my shirt was wet from perspiration, and I was noting my tiredness and heaviness, not a way to begin my learning from "M".  Her professional caregiver recognized my plight and asked if I wanted to share "M"'s afternoon snack of ice cream. 

As the three of us sat together, I felt good about my presence.  The caregiver talked about how she was going to take a week's vacation and "M" would be staying at our local skilled nursing facility during her absence.  The upbeat nature of our communing felt good. 

Then the caregiver left, and I began to focus on "M".  But no matter what I tried, I was unable to find her.  Even when I began playing music for her, the two of us were just not in the same world. 

Lamenting my decision to walk from the doctor's office and my resulting physical status, I found myself becoming more and more resentful about my presence.  I began passing the time by longing for her husband's return from the golf course.  

6:00 PM came, the usual time to hear his golf cart cross the street from the links on the other side, but his usual promptness was not in evidence.  I began to become a little anxious, not worried, but just wondering why the delay.  

Interestingly, my little piece of anxiety seemed to break open a connection with "M".  I suddenly became aware that she also seemed somewhat agitated, and I wondered how I had missed that before.  

A reflection of "M"s sensitivity and beauty

My senses were telling me that she was having trouble letting go of her "space" and moving beyond.  I didn't know what that meant, but I sent her thoughts to mentally reassure her that she could go wherever she needed to go.  

That seemed to provide some comfortable connection and resolution for the two of us as we sat together and finishing the wait for her husband's appearance. 

8/15/00

I knew that "M"'s temporary move to the skilled nursing facility might be difficult for her.  So I told her husband that I would be in town several times to play with our community band for the summer festival, and I would make sure to stop and spend some time with "M" in the skilled nursing facility.  Perhaps that would help her accept and adapt to the new environment.

I arrived as she was being fed her dinner.  So I sat next to her and decided to play my flute for her and her dinner mates.  It was a moving experience, especially as I began playing one of those old hymns. There seemed to be a monotone of weak attempts by the residents to merge in song to the accompaniment of my flute.  I found myself welling up emotionally and my throat tightening.  I immediately became aware that this was my purpose in being here.   

8/22/00

The caregiver called to confirm our Tuesday date.  I asked how the SNF stay had gone, and she told me not to be surprised about how I would find "M" that afternoon and that we had a lot of work to do.  

There was "M" in her chair, but both eyes were swollen and blackened and the bridge of her nose injured indicating a fall on her glasses.  Her arm was in a support to keep it extended.  She looked miserable and pained to say the least.  The caregiver shared how an SNF aide had apparently left her on the toilet while she had gone to get her wheelchair and "M" had fallen to the floor.  The difficulty with the arm might have occurred a couple of days after the fall, perhaps another of those small strokes.  

The caregiver left to go home, and for once, I had no difficulty recognizing "M"'s plight.  I was immediately in touch with her acute condition.  After receiving her affirmative response for some music, I found my offerings flowing very easily and providing a meaningful experience for both of us.  

Nature's method for continuing the next generation on our land

Then "M" gave me my next lesson.  I recalled sitting with her in the SNF while I was playing and she was being  fed.  The staff person, while patient, was still feeding her at a pace faster than "M"'s desire.  I was doing the same with my music.  We as people don't eat continuously if we are truly going to enjoy our meal.  We take time to converse and savor the flavor of our meal.  

Should music be any different?  I thought about my resentment of our local Public Radio host who parks each selection on top of the last word of his introduction and then often fails to let the reverb die before offering his conclusion.  Also, how about my anger at the industry standard of 6 seconds between selections on a recording (that came from LP's and the need to conserve as much space as possible with the limitation of 20 minutes per side and why should this continue with 1 hour and 10 minutes per CD)?

So I took time to finish the last note of each selection and to really taste the experience of being there with "M" before moving on to another piece.  I felt good about what was happening, and "M" seemed to be finding some comfortable resolution from her trauma.  

There was one more piece to learn from "M".  I had stopped at the music store on my way to "M"'s to see if there was a guitar book of the old hymns.  I found one, and as I suspected, the hymns were in appropriate keys for my diatonic flute.  So after our usual assortment of music, I ventured into this new source of inspiration.  However, before I had completed one selection, I was aware that the need to focus on reading the music pulled me away from my connection with "M".  I was just going to have to take the time to memorize these new melodies before sharing them with "M".

(To be continued)

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Article 1:    To a Wild Rose (Some "life" awareness gained from this piece of nature) 06/06/00 (2 min.)

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