Each month we visit the Fisher Home in Amherst, where all of the patients are on hospice. The experience is always moving, and often very profound.

The last time we were there we sang for a woman and her son. He told us that since arriving there she had spoken only in single word utterances. When we started singing she started to look intently at each singer. From singer to singer she locked her eyes with each one of us for a very long time (this happens a lot). She looked almost amazed at our presence.

We finished our songs and moved to other rooms. Her son was leaving, but before he did found us and asked if we would go back to sing his mother to sleep. We did, and once again she looked each one of us in the eye, in long, silent gazes.

We left quietly and convened in the corridor. Just then, an aide stepped out of her room and walked over to us, with tears in her eyes. Apparently as she was helping her, the patient looked up and said ‘are the voices still here’?

It was the longest sentence she had uttered since her arrival.

This is why we sing.