The piece I initially intended to write was a heartfelt tribute to the ukulele: a celebration of this small, affordable, and cheerful instrument. The joy of having a ukulele readily available at home has become one of my greatest delights. My son often brings it on car rides, strumming along to Stromae or my curated Joni Mitchell playlist. My partner occasionally picks it up to create impromptu songs about our living room’s clutter. At our dinner gatherings, someone inevitably strums the ukulele to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s enchanting rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” filling me with joy. My main point was going to be: you should definitely get a ukulele.
However, after the heartbreaking loss of my oldest and dearest friend—my companion for 43 years—my focus has shifted. Now, I feel compelled to express a different sentiment: in the absence of religion, music serves as my sanctuary.
Following her passing, after delivering her eulogy and returning home from New York, friends came to visit—the people I affectionately call “The Crew.” They brought food and comfort, enveloping us in love during our time of grief. We shared just the right amount of wine and far too much of a Polish honey liqueur that had an unfortunate odor, and amidst laughter and tears, I recounted stories of my friend’s final days. We even played a round of Boggle.
Soon enough, my son gravitated towards the piano, and others picked up various instruments, leading us into song. Our group contains a mix of incredible talent and those of us who simply enjoy expressing ourselves through a less-than-perfect chorus. The essence lies in melody and harmony.
We sang Joni Mitchell’s “River,” The Beatles’ “Let It Be,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird,” and the many poignant verses of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” We had some lyrics printed out, while teenagers searched for others on their phones, just as they often do. It was pure bliss.
Singing together is a common occurrence for us, typically driven by joy rather than grief, and sometimes we prepare in advance. We host hootenannies where musicians bring their instruments—guitars, banjos, drums, and, yes, ukuleles—and we joyfully play our favorite songs. Here are a few recommendations:
- “I’ll Fly Away” by Alison Krauss
- “Kick Drum Heart” by Avett Brothers
- “When My Time Comes” by Dawes
- “Pecan Pie” by Wilco
- “Kids” by MGMT
- “Goddamn Lonely Love” by Drive-By Truckers
- “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
- “Hey Ya” by OutKast
- “Shady Grove” (traditional)
- “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
- “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” (Guns N’ Roses version)
If this eclectic mix isn’t your style, feel free to explore different genres! Sometimes, families send around a single song ahead of time for everyone to prepare. Instrumentalists can learn their parts, while those like me—who lack notable talent—can simply revel in the music. For instance, we might choose The Beatles’ “I Will” or Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.” Occasionally, a teenager might bring a trumpet or a cello. No matter what, it’s always just what I need. You should try it too! Gather your friends, print out some lyrics, and make music together. If anyone plays an instrument, great—even an enthusiastic tambourine will do! And if not, just let your voices rise in song.
In my friend’s final days in hospice, death felt less like a serene lily and more like a monstrous octopus she was fighting. Yet, a compassionate music therapist arrived with a guitar, playing songs like The Beatles’ “Across the Universe,” Iron and Wine’s rendition of “Such Great Heights,” and the Avett Brothers’ “I and Love and You.” It brought us solace, with my friend smiling peacefully. Days later, at her service, a cantor sang “You Must Believe in Spring” with such clarity that belief felt possible.
While music may not offer the structured comforts of organized religion—such as the promise of an afterlife or a neat framework—it carries profound meaning. The essence of life can be found within song. It embodies connection, celebration, and a sense of the sacred. As Leonard Cohen beautifully expresses, “And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.” Hallelujah.
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In summary, the power of music brings us together, providing comfort in times of sorrow and joy in moments of celebration. Engaging with friends and sharing melodies can create a meaningful experience, helping us navigate the complexities of life and loss.
Keyphrase: music as therapy
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