The Gift at the Hospice, by Catherine Redfern

They are already assembled, this Monday group. Cars, mini-buses, an ambulance have gathered them. Now they sit, a few in wheelchairs, drinking their coffee. They chat quietly. Some call across the room. There is laughter.
   An introduction, and theyquieten. They smile encouragement. They don't see her fear, nor her doubt. Surely on the terrifying edge of life, their thoughts must be tunnelled down; narrowing, narrowing. How can they possibly be interested? Isn't all this irrelevant?
   
She opens they case, and they look. They exclaim at the rich mahogany varnish, at the gleaming keys, at the way all the sections fit together.
   She crows on the reed, and they laugh at the unmusical sound. But then all is assembled ....

   She plays, and they listen. They listen to folk songs, to Mancini, to "Land of My Fathers" (one man sings along in Welsh), to Gershwin's "Summertime", to "When I'm 64" ("Make that 74!" "84 for me!", to "Where e're You Walk" (again, a rich barione joins in, and others hum along), and finally Sarastro's aria from "The Magic Flute"; her own favourite melody. It's a prayer really, and a good last piece.
   They fire questions: som many. What is the wood? Where is it made? How heavy is it? Is it very expensive? Do you need a lot of puff? All those keys: are they difficult to remember? Do you have to use a new reed every time? They haven't seen one, nor heard one, nor, for some, heard of one. She is amazed and humbled by this group: yes, by this life-affirming group.

Their thanks are warm and generous. One man stands and says, "I wasn't sure: I didn't think I'd be interested in a bassoon; but I was. I'm an engineer, so I can appreciate the skill needed to make a complex instrument like that. And that last piece you played - did you say Mozart? - well, I found there were tears in my eyes. That's never happened to me before".

She packs up, warmed by this gift he has given her. She knows that music - that sound alone - can move the listener deeply; but she had not understood that here, far from being irrelevant, its power may be all the more intensely felt.
   Goodbye. Thank you. Will you come again? She heads for her car. In the office, a date has been set. Yes; it is goodbye. The date is six months away.