When I first met Kim, her husband had just passed away. In the midst of her grief, she suffered a massive stroke that affected the muscles on the left side of her body and scrambled some of her mental faculties. She sought me out, hoping I could teach her ukulele as a form of music therapy.

It was slow, rewarding work as both of us learned how hard to push and how to piece together the puzzle that her mind had become. There were tears of frustration in the beginning as she reckoned with what she had lost and how to regain what she could. All the symbols looked like hieroglyphics in those first months, yet she never gave us, and I read every music therapy book I could get my hands on, and, line-by-line, week-by-week, she became stronger and more sure of herself.

And her mind and spirit began to heal.

For two years, we journeyed through her grief and physical pain, celebrating every small triumph along the way until we reached the other side, where she found joy and confidence in her musical abilities. Our friendship turned into a familial bond, and I met her grandson and taught him music as well. We found new favorite places together and delicious restaurants and took a road trip to the mountainous wilds of Washington State to meet custom Uke makers. Our lessons stretched from forty-five minutes to two hours, and eventually, she began writing her own songs and creating her own arrangements.

Kim was thriving and ready to make connections and figure out who she could be in this new season of life. She attended her first ukulele festival and was embraced by the beautiful community of musicians, making friends—some older, some much younger—all who had gained something ineffable from their journey with music. They welcomed her in, and she left the life of isolation and widowhood behind to travel the Northwest and intertwine her life with new friends and joyful music.

There were many tears when I left Portland and we finally parted ways. Kim gave me a card with two hand-written lines that I'll never forget:

Here’s to you, Kim. You are forever one of the most inspiring women I’ll ever know.