One of the patients who I have been visiting for several months is usually sleeping. She sometimes acknowledges me when I sit down. For most of our sessions she is sleeping or resting.
Today when I arrived one of her sons was playing the harmonica for her, while continually holding her hand. It was so precious. After some of the songs, even though her eyes were still closed, she mouthed "Thanks for that song". This was the first time I have met any of her family. After he was done with his repertoire, I suggested some Christmas Carols, which he then launched into.
After one of these, she opened her eyes, and said "I really liked that song."
As he was about to leave, and while he was saying goodbye, she put her hands on either side of his face and spoke his name several times. It was so touching. Often you are not sure if patients even know you are there. In fact, they are more aware of your presence than we know.
I pondered what it must be like to not remember a familiar face, and then to switch into knowing that person intimately. I speculated that maybe she knew him for the harmonica music he played when she was younger and more alert. For that split second she knew exactly who he was, and that he had just played beautiful music.
For 15 minutes after he had left, when she did open her eyes she called out his name. I replied that he had just left but that while he was there he played some awesome music.
I left her listening to her Christian prayers, which obviously gave her lots of comfort. She even felt her non existent rosary beads during one of the prayers. Those traditions and rituals are very important reminders of faith, especially when parts of our memory have left us.
I think I saw several miracles during my visit today.
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