When I was in between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I was home during the summer and needing a job. Of course I was picky and coffee houses didn’t exist back then and the coveted jobs at the local record store were few and far between. A position came open as a “worker” at a day treatment program for adults dual diagnosed with mental illness and cognitive disabilities — seemed like an interesting job for a 19-year-old and luckily my mother was the director of the program… so, I had my job.
The clients there were endearing and mind-blowing and exhilarating — I remember their faces and most of their names. One of the clients, a man we’ll call “Scott”, seemed so interesting to me. He played football in his youth and still had the physique — 6’2″, broad shoulders, and handsome. He never spoke — never. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his facial expression… always a flat affect. He was always by himself. He never joined the group — always alone. I found out that he had almost killed his 11-year-old cousin. His illness took over one night and he choked the boy — he was found to be mentally ill and placed in the day treatment program. To be honest, I was scared of him. I kept a safe distance from him, I always made sure I knew where he was, I never pushed him to participate in any of the groups.
I play the piano — a little anyway. We had a beautiful piano in my house when I was growing up. Our house was always filled with music — my brother is a drummer, my older sisters were in chorus, I played the trumpet and the guitar and we all played the piano. My mother was a musician — a vocalist. She had aspirations of being an opera singer. There was never a day that went by in my house that my mother didn’t sit down and start playing the piano and singing. We weren’t an average family. Our parents raised us to be independent and self-reliant and we weren’t exactly Ozzie and Harriet. But, it was very normal for us all to gather around the piano and start singing along — Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, Bette Midler, The Commodores. We always had plenty of songs to choose from — sheet music was everywhere. The piano was often the center of our universe. When we didn’t have words for each other, we could sit down and play a song and inevitably someone would come in and sing along.
There was a piano at the day treatment facility. It never got used and was desperately out of tune. Still, I couldn’t help but sit down and play a song each day as I passed by. No one ever joined in to sing — I was usually ignored. Until one day, I sat down and started playing “Endless Love”. “Scott” came over and sat down next to me. I started singing in my best Lionel Richie voice and hoped my nerves wouldn’t show through as he gazed at the piano and then at me. When I finished, his expression was still the same, he still didn’t talk, he still didn’t smile. And I left him there at the piano.
My summer came to an end and I headed back to college — always thinking about the people from the program and sharing their stories with my friends (my summer job was much cooler than working at the record store). When the next summer came around, I was very eager to reclaim my job at the program and luckily many of the same clients were still there — including “Scott”. The therapists were anxious for me to see everyone and said I would be surprised at a few of the people and their progress. On the first day, “Scott” was the first to greet me. He walked up to me and smiled and said hi. We had a conversation — a real conversation. He walked away to go help some of the other clients — he had become a group leader and was perfect in that role. He eventually made his way to the piano and started playing a song — apparently he knew how to play but had stopped when his mental illness started to control him. A few clients gathered around him and started to sing along with him… and me, I was there too.
What a heartwarming story!
Thank you Julie. I really enjoyed my summers there — such great stories!
I know the feeling. It is sometimes hard not to be scared or at least a little nervous when you know the history of a patient. Nice that he was able to make so much progress.
Music is a great bridge in any situation. I use it a lot when tensions are high with my group. Sometimes all I have to do is turn on the music and the attitudes change. Instead of fighting, they dance and sing along.
I am not immune to the therapeutic value of tunes. Music seldom fails to make me feel good.
Music has always been such a vital aspect of my life. We all grew up playing an instrument and singing. I have a keyboard still and of course my guitar.
Music gives me words when I can’t find them myself.
Thank you Mary!
I cannot tell you how much I love your writing, b. You always draw me in ~ although if I started singing along with your family, everyone would have joined together to either carry me out of the house or maybe take pity on me and just duct tape my mouth closed. Honestly, when my daughter was little (and we didn’t know not to put car seats in the front seat) she would turn the radio up as loud as it would go if I started singing along.
How wonderful you must have felt when you came back the second summer and saw the changes in “Scott” ~ especially with him playing the piano and singing. What an amazing experience and memory to have. And what an amazing family to have grown up in!
Sorry I can’t tweet the post. But you know I love you! *Biggest Squishiest Hugs*
Thanks Dani. It was a couple of very interesting summers. I was remembering how that moment at the piano one afternoon changed a lot. Thanks for taking the time to read!
Beautiful memory B! Music is a universal language right? All of us can be calmed by soothing music, and agitated by jarring sounds. I love the image of your family gathering around the piano, and the progress of “Scott.” Thank you for sharing it with us! xo
Thank you for coming here and reading and commenting! I always turn to music to help my mood and… It always helps.
What an amazing experience to be part of at a young age (yeah, college age seems young to me know). Made me wish I’d conquered my fear of nursing homes and volunteered when I had the opportunity when I was very young. I didn’t have the confidence then that you did. Such a gift.
Thank you Sue for coming here and reading. It means so much knowing you’re here! I didn’t grow up in the average family but we all shared music — it was often the common denominator. I wish I was as self-confident now as I was then (sounds like a new post! I’ll work on it.)
Lovely story, and one that resonates with me. Music is and was a defining passion for me and my family (I’ve been working on a post about it for weeks now), and we have some experience with dual diagnosis programs as well. I enjoyed reading this post about you and your talented family and the important work you do, and how you used music to connect with Scott. It was great to read about his progress.
Have a great weekend, I hope you get your earache sorted out!
Thanks Maggie!
I love it when you sneak in here — makes my heart warm.
I would love to share some stories about the dual diagnosis programs. I can’t wait to read your post (subtle hint) ;-).
Hi Becky,
I found your website through j at Zebra Sounds when she would retweet your posts and I started following you as well. I am so glad that I did, I love your writing! Thank you so much for sharing your stories and sharing yourself.
Thank you for taking the time to come here, especially from ZS which is my favorite place to pass the ether time!
This is such a nice thing for you to say — it really means a lot when someone just lets me know they were here and reading. I’ll go find you find you right now on twitter!
I am not a regular poster, either on Twitter or my website. Writers like you and j, along with a few others are such an inspiration to me. Again, thank you for sharing, you are truly a very talented writer!
That put a big smile on my face — j is the most talented writer I’ve ever read… so thank you.