Adventures in empathy

The hospital atrium where I volunteer as a pianist.

In the lovely and spacious atrium of a nearby hospital stands a small grand piano. A little over three years ago, I signed up as a volunteer pianist. Each week for an hour or two, I hammer out tunes while patients, visitors, and staff filter through, some hanging out, some bringing their lunch.

During my first month, a man requested “In My Life,” by the Beatles. I had to reach back into my memory for that one, but there it was. He burst into tears as I played. I learned that his wife of 50–plus years had just passed, in that very hospital, and that he had heard the piano as he was leaving and followed the sound to the atrium. “That’s our song,” he choked out between sobs. I wept with him. I couldn’t not.

Not long after, a woman requested Gershwin’s “Someone to Watch Over Me.” It’s one of my favorites, and I was happy to play it for her. Her husband of 60–some years lay in serious condition in the upper floors. It was their song. Again, there were tears, and again I joined in.

Just last week, a woman in perhaps her 30s or 40s took a seat near the stairs, handkerchief to her face, shaking with stifled sobs. Who was this person? What was amiss? Of course I couldn’t know. More than likely, a loved one was fighting for life on a floor above. She was a stranger, and yet I cared. Lord, did I care. “Play something soothing,” whispered my conscience. I did, doing my best, not successfully, to fight back tears of my own.

Elon Musk once vomited that empathy is “the fundamental weakness of Western civilization.” He’s a fool. Empathy is a gift to be nurtured and cherished.

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