Betty’s Story – Part 3 (of 3)

A favorite song of ours together was Fly Me To the Moon. We analyzed the lyrics and talked about its meaning (lyric analysis is a common music therapy intervention). I asked Betty what lyrics she liked and she asked me to reread them. She stopped me at the lyrics about music, “Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore.” Betty liked these lyrics the best. She reiterated, “Music will always be in my heart. No matter what, I will always have music. Music is so powerful.”

One day she requested I Wonder as I Wander, an old Christian folk song. I knew it as a Christmas carol, having grown up in the evangelical christian church, yet I had never used it in a music therapy session thus far. The lyrics are as follows:

I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus my Saviour did come for to die
For poor on’ry people like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky

I sat with Betty as she contemplated life. She talked about walking through the world, uncertain and uneasy. She encouraged me to hold onto the dear things around me, my treasured friendships and all things lovely. We talked about the end of life, and Betty expressed that she lived a good life. She also talked about how the world had gotten so ugly. She was saddened by all of the violence in the world, the natural disasters, and the hate. She explained that it wasn’t this way when she was a young woman. There was not as much hostility, so she claims.

Betty died soon after that session. It was the last time I saw her and the last time we spent together. She felt like a friend of mine, one with quaint speech and a profound love of music. Our relationship was kept professional, but I cannot deny that there was a fondness there.

I called the one person who was listed in her chart to express my condolences. He was an old coworker of hers. They had worked in shoe sales together, and Betty apparently climbed the ladder of success in the business, being second to the CEO. Betty had talked about this friend with affection. She listed him as one of her closest friends, the one person who would visit her. There was no sorrow in his voice as I talked with him that day; he was sad but happy that she was out of pain and misery. I shared some of my stories with him, and it brought him solace knowing there were people there for Betty at the end.

I take away a greater appreciation for music from my time with Betty. Here was a woman who had more to extend to the world but no way in which to do this. I was able to make a bridge between her and the universe at this time of her life, using my own creativity, music therapy skills and intuition, and the excellent power of music. Leaving Betty behind in my work was not easy; I look back on those days tenderly. She died right before we saw several natural disasters occurring around the globe, and I was happy about her absence at this time. I was glad that she was spared the horrendous sounds of police sirens, and the agony of lament over her city. She ended her time on earth with music and conversation, not with news reports of tragedy and trauma. I was hopeful that she was now at peace and out of pain, singing forevermore.

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