by Jennifer L. Hollis
“Have you ever been there when someone dies?” people ask when they find out I play the harp and sing for dying patients. It is the same tone I hear when someone asks, “Do you think you will have more children?” They want to talk about it, but they worry that the answer might be a secret. When I tell them I have been there at the moment of death, though not as often as they might suppose
by Lucy Kalinithi
When my husband died from cancer last March at age 37, I was so grief-stricken I could barely sleep. One afternoon, I visited his grave — in a field high in the Santa Cruz Mountains, overlooking the Pacific Ocean — and lay on top of it. I slept more soundly than I had in weeks. It wasn’t the vista that calmed my restless body; it was Paul, just there, under the earth. Read the rest of the NY Times piece here.
“The fact that even in Dad’s death we have grown closer brings me a beautiful comfort. It makes me think we ascribe too much severity to death. Spirit doesn’t die. Music doesn’t die. And the love that links spirit to music knows nothing about death. That spirit, that music, that love is eternal.” READ THE WHOLE ARTICLE AT BILLBOARD.COM.