"I had a neat experience today,"
says Dad from his hospital bed.
"What was that, Dad?" say I,
perched on the bed by his side.
"A young man with a violin came around
and played music to the patients," he says.
(I turn my head for a moment
to hide the quick, unbidden tears.
Why am I crying?)
"That's wonderful, Dad," I say (when I'm able).
"Did he come into your room?"
"Yes, he came right in," says Dad.
"What did he play? Did he take requests?"
"He played Rachmaninoff and Bach," says Dad
in a tone of satisfaction (these are two of his favourite composers).
"He was very good."
"Did he play for the other patients?" I ask.
"Yes, he played for anyone
who wanted him to," says Dad.
"It was great."
~ ~ ~
Dear Young Man with a Violin,
Thank you for bringing music and beauty and life and joy into weary hospital rooms.
God bless you and your violin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~