Yesterday morning, I visited three wards in a hospital to sing Beatles songs to the residents of the facility. It broke my heart.

A colleague from work told me that she volunteers, by singing songs, once a month at the Laguna Honda hospital where a wide variety of indigent San Franciscans are in long term or hospice care. These are generally elderly people who lived through the 60s and 70s but also younger ones who cannot be cared for elsewhere . Seeing a beautiful opportunity to serve by combining my love for singing, the Beatles, I signed up and found myself there last Saturday.

We were about a dozen volunteers, all strangers, ranging from three years of age to 60+ warming up our voices, lyrics book in hand and rehearsing basic choreography, should we be inspired.

That was a lot of fun! I enjoyed practicing, full of energy ready to give a burst of love and metta to the residents. This would be the first time I would be going in to a hospital, seeking to interact with people. Bring it on, I thought! They will be blown away!

On my way up to the first ward I saw a man (must be in his late 30s?) without a nose. It was just eyes and a smile, lovingly talking to a nurse. Shocked, curious and conflicted, I couldn’t bear to see it! and yet... such calm and sweetness exuded from him. But I couldn’t approach him. What is this shallow, fearful heart I carry. What do I fear? I didn’t know at this point how deeply I was going to be moved in the next couple of hours.

Generally the residents seemed very happy to have us as visitors, who sing songs that they love, singing along with us, waving hands to the beats, humming the tunes along. There were even a few who would zip up and down to the other wards in their wheelchairs so they could hear us again. These were uplifting moments. There were other moments which connected me deeply to the sorrow that lies within.

I realised that I couldn’t bear to look into the eyes of any of the residents. Was it there shriveled face, contorted bodies, slack jaws, expressionless eyes? Or was it the sadness in their eyes that I did not want to look into… that reminded me that this is what each of us must face. That which I dont want to understand, or feel. My gaze could only last a fraction of a second before the discomfort got to be too much. Its ok, I have a book to hide under, I have a song to sing, a note to hold, Turn around, quick. It didn’t take me long to realize that it was the deep discomfort within me that their eyes were simply mirroring for me. They dont need to see MY discomfort. Was I judging them? Was I judging myself? I was judging myself for not being able to even smile at them because their unspoken unknown discomfort was just too much for my child heart to bear. Look at me! I am a healthy adult with no ailment. Strutting into your home and making a show. Was I mocking to them? Should I not be here?

There were a few incidents that stood out. In the first 1st ward there was an elderly black lady wrapped up in her wheelchair, who had the sweetest smile, she warmed up, to an older lady who was fully engrossed in the song. As I was captivated by the sights of a hospital... bibs, walkers, wheelchairs, skeletal, thin, happy, stiff, damp. smelly… then the eyes. I couldn’t look. I persisted and she made a connection and then I thought she didn’t wish to look at me anymore. I must have deposited my unspoken fears to her. My unspoken, inarticulate judgment? the discomfort at standing at this edge.

Is she in pain? What is wrong with her? Can I ask her? I ask "How are you doing?" (What a stupid question to ask!) "Fine" she says with much effort. I am afraid to hold her hand or pat her hand or touch anyone's shoulder. I am afraid of catching it. Is it contagious? (What is wrong with me!!?) I dont know what it is that has brought them here. How long have you been here? Are you in pain? Do you understand what is going on? I am singing for you. Does my singing help you? Does it lighten your burden a little? Tell me it makes your pain go away! My two minutes of singing, that should cheer you up, right? Right? The pain in the eyes. We have sung a few songs already. Its fun, Beatles are always fun. Easy to get lost in. The other volunteers are sensing similar things. Moving and singing next to people who are receptive. I am uncomfortable. I could move away. Move where its safe. I have legs. I can walk. I can run. I can run out of the hospital NOW. OK last song, good lets go. The violence of my own emotions and the self judgement had me in a fix.

Why am I here? Am I prying?

Daisy, a fellow volunteer, and I connect on the way to the second ward. Yes its hard, not knowing if we are of service really. Its OK, just put the intention of warmth. I sent as much compassion as I could. Wishing them the best. Sending them love through the bond of music.

But is this service?

We came like a storm. sang for about 15 minutes and poof we moved on. Is such a momentary uplifting of someone's spirit even worth it? Won’t reality come flooding back in, the moment we leave? Aren’t we in fact taunting them to see that which they do not have?

I am struggling with my inability of being able to look them in the eye and feel their story and hold that discomfort. I am curious to know them, but afraid to ask and feel what they have felt.

Next ward and I meet Walter an african-american, who speaks fluent cantonese and mandarin was conversing with one of the volunteers in chinese! He later tells me he was diagnosed as ‘retarded’ at the age of 5. He loves to sing and wants to sing with me. We share my lyrics book and its karaoke! He sings beautifully. His friend also in a wheelchair sings. They joke with each other. Later he asks me how many languages I speak. It took him 5 years to learn all the chinese that he knows, making him comfortable to converse in China-town. He is articulate. He lifted my spirits! I told him that he is awesome for learning those languages and still being curious. This is not a sad place or a happy place. This just is. They have dreams and aspirations. They challenge themselves above what they are already challenged by. They are smart and kind.

This is so difficult for me to grasp. What is this mind that I carry that is so easily swung around? A smile from one of them allows me to move closer, sing bolder. They love it. Yes! Thank you for removing my discomfort. Please let me be hidden and numb, otherwise.

Another veteran took the tambourine and was banging it with excitement on the table, to the beat, perfectly timed. Full of enthusiasm. Do you have a favorite, sir? All of them. We sign another and another.

In the end we make a special stop to a room, Shannon’s mother like to hear us sing but she cannot make it to the common room. We were really singing for Shannon, who spends all the time he has caring for his bed-ridden mother. Here I witnessed the love of an ostracized boy, a grown man, who dutifully serves his ailing mother. He knows she will pass and he knows he will be left all alone. Not a dry eye in that room.

I was reflecting on my drive back to the south bay, in tears. Hurt and saddened by how fickle this life is. I have health now. I can drive around and choose to go to a hospital and spend 3 hours of my 'precious' time singing to these people. And leave. They cant. I am free. They appear not to be.

Whom did I serve today? I served only myself. In fact, it is they who served me. I listened to my voice sing songs that I like singing. I was showing off my skills, my vocal chords, my ambulatory legs that carried me to floor from floor. Left when I wanted to. They had sacrificed everything in order for me to have found my way there. At that precise moment to learn this lesson. Did I learn the lesson? I took a small bite. Its a child’s heart after all. Let it grow at its own pace.

Old age is coming. Disease is coming. Death is coming. Can I face it? Will I be ready?