I decided to bring the guitar and all its accoutrements with me to Hospice House; maybe, just by having them near him, Len might feel their presence, their energy.

I wanted to shed some hope for his recovery.

​After showing Dad's gifts to the staff, I stowed them near the nurses' closet, next to Len's room. We exchanged worried looks wondering if Len would ever see the guitar.

Two weeks later we rejoiced when Len beat the odds. His door was open and we set a new date for the guitar presentation.

Newspaper reporters and photographers arrived, the volunteer coordinator carried a cake decorated with a guitar, nurses and administration gathered in the hall outside Len's room. 

I held the guitar, still in its case. We entered slowly. 
​
Len looked up, surprised and perplexed at the crowd in his room.

"Hi, Len. I've got something for you. Do you know what this is?" Our excitement mounted.

"Yeah, I think it's a guitar."

I opened the case, removed the precious instrument, and held it up to him.
​
"Yes, and it's yours," I said placing the guitar in his hands. Cameras flashed, applause broke out, the nurses cried, and Len sat expressionless, still unbelieving.

"Besides the guitar, I have books and a music stand, a guitar stand and big picks. And I promise to give you lessons. How does that sound?" I asked the stunned Len.
There was no response. Finally he spoke, rather overcome, looking down. "That sounds okay."

Len would not let go of that guitar, not to eat or drink the party treats, not to leave his chair, not for anything.

He held that instrument like a baby, close to his chest, studying the strings, the shiny tuning pegs, the gorgeous new wood finish.
​
I left him and the festivities for a while to tend other patients, but stooped back by his room so we could talk about his upcoming lessons.

When I returned to Len's room he was still cradling that guitar, lost in his new possession, smiling easily.

"Clip the nails on your left hand for next week's lesson," I said gently. "Maybe a nurse can help you. Then try to press on the strings with those fingertips once in a while. You can start building up calluses that way."

I showed him how to hold the pick and strum lightly. He was in heaven.

"See you in a week," I said.

The next week Len was not in his room.