Henry Nguyen was a piano teacher for 45 years. Even after retirement, he spent his afternoons teaching local kids and volunteering at the senior center, playing everything from Beethoven to The Beatles.
When ALS slowly stole his ability to move and eventually speak, Henry was admitted to Meadowbrook Hospice. The loss of his hands was particularly cruel — they had been his voice for decades.
But something beautiful happened.
A hospice music therapist, Lara, came to visit. She had heard about Henry and brought her keyboard. She sat by his bed, softly playing old favorites — “Clair de Lune,” “Let It Be,” “Moon River.” Henry’s eyes filled with tears. And then, he began to blink — once for yes, twice for no — guiding Lara note by note.
Over the next week, they “composed” a short melody together. She played. He directed. It was slow and painstaking, but to Henry, it was everything. One of his former students visited and recorded the piece.
On Henry’s final night, they played that melody in his room as his family surrounded him. Peace washed over his face.
The student who recorded the melody played it at his funeral, titled “Henry’s Last Song.”
The hospice chaplain later said, “He couldn’t speak. But through us, he still got to be heard. That’s the power of connection. That’s what we do.”