A Collaboration, A Lasting Gift
An RVNAhealth Hospice Music Therapy Story
There’s something quietly extraordinary about the work that happens in hospice care. Not just in the clinical sense — though that matters — but in the human sense. The sitting beside. The listening. The making of something together when time feels tender and days are uncertain.
Baylee first came to RVNAhealth as a volunteer hospice music therapy intern. She brought music into patients’ homes – sometimes as comfort, sometimes as connection, always with care. That’s how she met Jim.
Over the course of a year and a half, their visits became something more than a routine. Not rushed. Not prescribed. Just a steady rhythm of presence, conversation, and eventually… creation.
Their song, Beyond, began with a memory – one that has stayed with Jim for years.
“It was a Saturday afternoon and I was on my way home down Riverside Avenue in Westport and I passed my church, which was the Church of the Assumption. I went there. I was a little boy, grew up in that church. I decided to pull over and went inside… just for some quiet.”
Jim sat in the pews alone, until a young woman stepped up to the dais and began to sing. “She didn’t know I was in the audience. I was the only one there… and she sang this beautiful song.” She noticed him partway through, stopped, and walked down the aisle to apologize, thinking she had disturbed his quiet moment. Jim assured her she hadn’t. “No, on the contrary. It was beautiful. Please, please don’t stop.” She thanked him, sang the rest of the song, and explained as she left that she was practicing for the 10:30 mass the next morning – a tribute to her father.
Moved by her vulnerability and the purity of the moment, Jim offered her a parting rhyme that seemed to rise up on its own: “I know you’re sad, but do not cry. You’ll meet him one day again in the sky.” She walked over, gave him a hug, and said, “Thank you. I really needed that.” Then she left the church, leaving Jim with a memory that stayed long after.
That moment planted a seed.
Together, Jim and Baylee began to shape a song, not just for that young woman, but for anyone navigating loss. Anyone who might need a moment of music to feel seen, held, and maybe even a little uplifted.
Their process was slow and thoughtful. “It was like building a house out of scattered blocks,” Jim said. “We put it together, a little bit at a time.” Each session added a new idea, a new line, a new musical thread. They considered different perspectives, played with structure, and leaned into inspiration from classic songs like You’ll Never Walk Alone and Willie Nelson’s Always on My Mind.
At first, they imagined the lyrics from the perspective of someone watching another’s journey. But they changed course, choosing instead to speak directly to the person facing illness. “There’s always something better beyond,” Jim said.
They kept the arrangement simple. No percussion. Just voice, guitar, and piano, enough to carry the emotion without crowding it.
Jim’s connection to music goes back to high school, when he played saxophone in a five-member band with friends. They rehearsed 18 songs and landed a paid gig at the Longshore Country Club. They thought it would be a small, low-key night, maybe 30 or 40 people. But over 100 guests showed up. “We were nervous,” Jim laughed. “The first few songs were rough.” But then something shifted. The band relaxed. The crowd started applauding. Energy grew.
Later that night, after the room had mostly cleared out, a man approached them. It was his anniversary, and he asked if they’d be willing to play Blue Moon, a song the band had already performed, for one last dance with his wife. They said yes, and played it just for them.
As they were packing up, Jim checked the tip jar and saw a folded $100 bill right on top. It was a generous tip, and the band instantly knew who it was from. That quiet gesture — the request, the moment, the thanks — stuck with Jim for decades. Not because of the money… but because of the meaning.
That stays with him. And so does the way music continues to matter all these years later.
Visits with Baylee became something he looked forward to. Their creative sessions were filled with meaning and lightness, too. “The most important thing is to have fun when you’re making music together, right? That’s it. Have fun.”
He also reflects on the care he receives through hospice. “Everyone who’s been part of this — every person, every visit — has shown such sincerity and care,” he says. “It’s not just a service. It’s a kindness.”
Now, with Beyond complete, Jim listens to the song and feels peace. “When you play the song… I listen to that song. It uplifts me,” he says. “It puts me on another level. And that’s what I hope it can do for someone else, you know?”
Music therapy in hospice isn’t usually about writing songs. Most often, it’s about presence. But every so often, something more takes shape — a shared idea, a spark, a lasting gift.
Baylee is now a staff music therapist with RVNAhealth’s hospice team, a role made possible by grants and the generosity of donors who believe in compassionate care. Because music therapy isn’t reimbursed by Medicare, it’s philanthropy that allows patients and families to experience moments like this.
This song, and this partnership, is a reminder of what’s still possible. That even in the quietest season of life, you can create something that speaks. Something that connects. Something that lasts.
“Oh, it’s been a joy,” Jim says to Baylee. “This has been… working with you.”
For Jim. For Baylee. For all those who believe there is still something… beyond.
Listen to Beyond here…