My granny was perfect. Truly. Everything about her said, “I know what I’m doing and you are in the best care.” She was wonderfully generous with her love, and it showed in all she did.

Grandad, her husband, was the complete opposite. He tucked himself away in the basement, where he spent endless hours in his workshop far from the visiting grandchildren. When I did see him, he always seemed grumpy. It would be many years before I learned that his stern look was sparked by his resolve to be a successful provider, and to give my dad and his brother what his parents hadn’t been able to give to him.

I don’t remember Granny and Grandad laughing or talking together much but I do remember them hosting many family gatherings: BBQs, Christmas parties, Sunday dinners. I loved it when all of my cousins would get together to play. At dinnertime we would all head to the buffet line for roast beef, ham, and heaping bowls of potatoes doused in gravy. Through it all the stereo would play an endless array of classics until someone started to play the piano.

On leaving Granny’s house you could count on three things: you were full, you had had a great time, and you felt loved.

I was twelve when Mom received a phone call informing us that Grandad had been rushed to the hospital. At the age of sixty-two, he had suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed and unable to speak. In no time he was in the local extended-care hospital.

We continued to visit Granny and Grandad every Friday evening. As we walked into Grandad’s room, I would mumble a greeting and then immediately zero in on the only thing that interested me: the little black-and-white television set on the corner table. My sister and I rarely interacted with the adults as we were too busy adjusting the rabbit ears of the television set. Granny looked over at us from the corner of her eye. She wanted us to tune in to something else: Grandad.

One Friday, Granny walked over to me, gave me a hug, and handed me a piece of music, saying, “Jenny, I brought this sheet music from home. It is your Grandad’s favourite song. Would you please learn it and sing it to him next week?”

Her request took me off guard. It seemed odd, but with some reluctance I said, “Sure.” I arrived the following Friday with my guitar. Granny pulled up a chair beside the bed where Grandad was resting, leaned down into his ear and said, “I’ve asked Jenny to sing a song I think you’ll like.”

Grandad looked puzzled as I sat down beside him. I felt nervous and looked down at the words on my lap. It took me a moment and then I began to sing a song written many years before I was born—“The White Cliffs of Dover,” the Second World War song made popular by Vera Lynn.

After I finished the final lyric, a hope for peace “tomorrow, when the world is free,” the first thing I noticed was a change in the sounds around me. The typical commotion and loud conversations in the hallways stopped. Although my back was to the door, I could tell that people were beginning to look in.

One of the wandering patients came right into Grandad’s room, and Granny gave him a chair. It surprised me when he started to sing. Even the woman who regularly yelled in the hallways stood behind me and joined in. I had no idea so many people knew this song. Granny smiled and nodded for me to keep going, so I sang on about the shepherd tending his sheep, the valley blooming again, Jimmy in his bed, and the bluebirds flying over those famous white cliffs.

I finished the song and looked up into Grandad’s eyes. He was crying. He reached out for my hand and squeezed it. I looked around the room and knew something big was happening. Granny rested her hand on my shoulder and announced proudly, “Jenny will be here to sing every Friday night.” I couldn’t help but smile.

Fortunately for me, many more musical moments like this would be in my future—with all sorts of people, from many different backgrounds and all stages of life. Those hospital visits would eventually lead me toward a career as a music therapist where, after many years of school, I would learn how to use music to calm, connect, even change the behaviours of people, including many more broody teenagers and grumpy old men.

Jennifer Buchanan is a health entrepreneur and music therapist, and the author of the books Tune In and Wellness Incorporated. A past president of the Canadian Association of Music Therapists, she has appeared on NBC, CBS, CBC Radio, CBC Television, CTV, and Global TV, and has been featured in the Huffington Post, Chatelaine, and Canadian Living.