Stephen W. Leslie
Called to the hospital, no family present, I was alone with the dying patient, a women in her eighties. I pulled out my silver flute and in rhythm with her breathing played melodies and sometimes just tones of sound. Although she was only barely conscious her forehead moved in reaction.
My supervisor stopped by and the patient stirred enough to greet her then lapsed back into dreamland.
I played for an hour, hospital staff, doctors, nurses and health aides stood at the door watching.
She passed quietly a few hours later