1994. Not even a registered nurse yet but a day that is burrowed deep in my soul as a memory that I hope I never forget.
Mr Jones (obvs not his real name) – a kindly man who often looked worried. Dementia had stolen his day to day memories but there was a depth to the furrows in his forehead that concealed a rich history and dormant experiences. He rarely spoke out loud. I will never forget that day. We were all in the lounge one rainy Saturday afternoon. We often put the record player on- just random records from the collection. I don’t even know who put the collection together.
This time someone had put a Welsh male voice choir record on. Nobody was really listening. There was the usual general chatter and laughter. Then seemingly from nowhere a voice rose above all others – a singer’s voice and we all stopped to look up at the figure of Mr Jones, in his brown suit, standing proudly singing Myfanwy. It was beautiful. I’d never heard a voice quite like it. Every single word sung perfectly.
I loved that moment. It taught the young 17 year old me the power of the memory and the surprises that nursing could bring. His song was one of hope – not necessarily the words, but the process; the power even. I will never forget. Just one of my #BestDaysInNursing