Playing for the Bedridden: A Gift I Never Got to Give My Great-Grandmother

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to play the piano for elderly residents at a nursing home for the first time. Specifically, I was invited to play in a small room with six elderly people who were bedridden and couldn't leave their beds. Luckily, I arrived an hour before their meals, so they were all awake.

To be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect. "Were they going to like my music selection?" "Would my old piano keyboard sound good enough for them?" "What would I do if they were all just silent?" These were some of my thoughts going into this performance.

Prior to this, some of you may already know that I have some prior experience in playing the piano in public. Which was when I volunteered to play the piano at hospitals. This was a pretty big step for me since I used to get really nervous performing in front of strangers. Surprisingly, this time, I wasn't nervous at all. I didn't feel the same pressure I usually feel when playing in hospital lobbies. Maybe it was because the room was small and quiet, and I was only playing for a couple of people.

The room I would be playing in was very small. In fact, when I told the staff that I would be playing in that room, they all looked surprised. There was hardly any space between the beds, so placing a keyboard there would be a challenge. Still, I gave it a go. Luckily, the keyboard fitted perfectly; any bigger, and it would not have been possible. Before playing the songs, I had to give a brief introduction about myself to all the elders. They were all awake, lying in their beds, looking at me with a curious expression. I told them my name, that I was a high school student, and that I was here to simply share some music with them. As I was introducing myself, one of the elders suddenly said, "Oh, you must be the boy who will be playing the piano!"

I smiled. I had visited them the week before just to introduce myself and ask if they would be okay with me coming to play for them. I didn't think anyone would remember, so hearing that warmed my heart. It made me feel more connected to the room, like I wasn't just some outsider coming in with a keyboard. I was someone they had been expecting.

Before I started playing, I also brought out something I had prepared ahead of time. Some small cakes and drinks for everyone. I thought it might be nice for them to have something to enjoy while I played. Almost like a little afternoon concert.

Then I sat down at the keyboard and got ready to play my first piece.

I started with a song called ยามเย็น, it's a well-known song among Thais that was composed by King Rama IV. But the moment I pressed the first note, I knew something was wrong with the keyboard. The sound coming from the keyboard came out weird, almost hollow and crackly. It wasn't at all the rich, soft sound that I had played at home. Honestly, it bothered me a lot.

I almost wanted to stop and apologize for the sound, but I looked up at the elders. They were all still watching me, and none of them looked disappointed or confused. They just listened.

So I kept playing.

Note: This was when the sound of the keyboard was semi-fixed

(In my next blog post, I'll share more performances from this visit!!!)

And while I played, something unexpected happened. I started imagining that I was playing for my great-grandmother. She passed away earlier this year before I ever got the chance to share any of my music with her. Toward the end of her life, she was also bedridden, and I had always wished I could've played something soft and comforting for her, even if it was just for one time. And in that moment, sitting in a room with others in a similar situation as my great-grandmother, it felt like I was finally doing that. Like I was playing through them for her.

That thought was the pivotal moment that changed everything for me. I stopped worrying about the flaws of my old piano keyboard, the off notes, or how the songs sounded weird. I just focused on the feeling I was putting into each key. I wasn't just performing, I was offering something from my heart. And even though the sound was far from perfect, I felt like the music still reached them.

One of the elders smiled halfway through the performance, while others gently swayed their heads along with the beat of the song. No one really said anything, but I could sense the mood in the room had shifted. It was quiet, but also full at the same time.

That was when I realized something: intention matters more than perfection. The fact that I had the intention to go out there and offer my musical abilities to these elders, who had just met once a week before, is more important than playing everything perfectly.

In my next blog post, I'll share more of my post-performance reflections and some more performance clips.

Stay tuned.

-Team