The hospice where my father is staying has a full-time music therapist on staff.
A ruddy young man with a neat reddish beard. He asked my father what he’d like to hear and Dad said “anything Irish.” He said he knew “Joe Murray” would have some Irish in him, took his guitar case off his back, and hit the ceiling fan with it.
He played us The Wild Rover and When Irish Eyes are Smiling and Danny Boy and something about St. Patrick’s Day in New York City and one more I can’t remember. And then he sang one we’d never heard before and he said he’d only heard once, about “where’ve you been, Bridey Flynn.”
Dad smiled and tapped his foot the whole time.
And the music therapist went to pack up and tapped the ceiling fan with the head of his guitar again.
The photo “Guitar Scales” is by Alan Levine, CC0 at https://flic.kr/p/RDaeis
