Music Therapy
Again we left Eileen resting on lamb’s wool in her hospital incubator. Sterile stainless steel, white walls, uniforms, and quiet surrounded us. Her eyes were closed, her chest rose and fell rapidly and she was clothed in only a diaper and tubes. We, her parents, would be back tomorrow, but now it was time for us to go home.
The silence between us was broken when we walked through the door. Twenty- two month-old Christopher squealed with delight and babbled unintelligible syllables. His chatter was music. He wrapped his arms around my neck and snuggled in, glad to be with Mama and Dada again.
Late that night, the phone rang. Eileen had just passed from this life into the next. As a couple we absorbed the finality of this departure. The weeks of praying and hoping for healing were over. We held each other through the night. No action on our part would change the situation. The thing to do was to accept the comfort God was providing through the comfort we gave each other.
The days that followed were filled with necessary tasks, understanding friends, and empty hours of timelessness when my heart ached. I filled the deathly quietness with music. Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos nudged me through my household chores. His predictable, steady rhythms gave me a quiet confidence. The busyness of his music anchored my soul and helped me finish my work. Later I sat on the floor assembling a wagon out of Tinkertoys with Christopher. Mozart’s simple melodies and pleasing harmonies revealed the beauty and joy of watching a child grow, discover, and accomplish; and they soothed the pain of Eileen’s absence.
One evening I was alone with Christopher, and after I had settled him in his crib for the night, I played a vinyl recording of Scripture in Song. The music drew me to drink in the honesty of God’s words. Those truths sank deeply into my soul. I turned up the volume, stopped folding laundry, sat down in the rocking chair and allowed God’s Holy Spirit to wash through my hurting spirit. The tears came and deep, wrenching sobs. With no one but God to see, I made no effort to quench my emotions. When the record ended I played it again, folded the rest of the laundry, and knew that, once again, music had brought solace.
My husband returned. I smiled at him and we found healing in our conversation together.
by Andrea Kidd
