Winter 2020: A Beautiful Discomfort
Of all the things that I’m missing the most this unique holiday season, it is the flood of bittersweet emotions and pensive thoughts that follow my quiet visits every December to various Children’s hospitals to play Christmas music for the kids stuck in the hospital like I once was. Selfishly, it is like a yearly reset button that serves as a poignant reminder as to why I chose to give up comfort and security to pursue this vocational path. To use music and words to attempt to provide healing or at least some comfort (or maybe a distraction) to those who most need it.
As a former pediatric oncology patient (multiple times, actually) and someone who has continued to excel at hiding my health struggles over the past 20 years, I’ve found myself oddly equipped for the quiet, knowing understandings in the interactions that exist between myself and the patient/patient’s families each year. There exists an almost delicate balance between acknowledging and understanding suffering. A simple letter sets apart pity and pithy and words expressed with either are not very helpful. The nurses, physicians, and caregivers who most deeply impacted me were the ones who simply sat and weeped with me. They didn’t come with words of eloquence or try to present a caring facade. They simply made a decision to be there in that uncomfortable space and time. These individuals are the reason I am still alive today and remembering the love they showed me continues to deeply impact the interactions I have with strangers wherever my music takes me.
In 2020, while opportunities to gather in person have drastically diminished, there have still been ways to simply be there whether through a phone call or a handwritten letter. Even still—this December especially— I really do miss that beautiful discomfort of intentionally stepping into a hospital during Christmastime.
