Track 7, Side 1: Peaceful Easy Feeling by the Eagles

The story of Rose and the song we got to share

My dad taught me every epic journey deserves a great soundtrack. My PalliMed Mixtape is the story of my Palliative Medicine Fellowship year, told in 15 songs.

Peaceful Easy Feeling on Apple Music

I found out a long time ago / What a woman can do to your soul

Here’s the scene. Rose is 67.  She woke up on a Monday in her hospital room, full of hope, thinking she would be starting another round of chemo. 

By Tuesday at noon, however, she has been told she is now too sick for any more chemo. She and her son have made a tough decision to forego any future CPR, and she has asked her medical teams to just focus on keeping her comfortable.

Later Tuesday afternoon she is in and out of consciousness, seemingly more drawn by the hour.  It is as if we can see the life slipping out of her, and a final repose setting in.  She will never rise up out of bed again.

Now it’s Tuesday evening.  I have a promise to fulfill before going home, a promise to come listen to some music with Rose and her son.  Rose loved the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Santana, and listening to her old favorites has brought her some peace and joy during this terrible time in the hospital. 

For some reason I feel uncertain about intruding into their room once again.  But as I sit at her bedside, Rose and her son assure me I am welcome.  I find a stillness and a tranquility now presiding. Her blankets and pillows from home lend some comfort and a little coziness to this space; they seem to symbolize the end of her treatments and an acceptance of rest, at last.

We say very little, and I ask if Peaceful Easy Feeling by the Eagles is alright.  Absolutely.  I set the phone up near her shoulder, push play on a low volume, and her daughter-in-law and I gently massage her feet and calves until the song ends. 

I get a peaceful easy feeling / And I know you won’t let me down / ‘Cause I’m already standing / On the ground

(Photo: The Ozarks)

When the final notes play, I tell her that at summer camp in the Ozarks we used to sing Peaceful Easy Feeling with our counselors. We would replace the lyrics of each verse, however, with the verses from the old hymn, Amazing Grace.  The words fit well. Rose and her son seem to like hearing that.

Rose thanks me for the song, and in a whisper barely audible says, “You made my day.” 

“No, Rose, you made mine.” 

We have had an incredible moment, but it’s time for me to go.  What little time that remains now is for them, not for me.  What a privilege to have sat with Rose one last time.

A voice keeps whispering in my other ear / Tells me I may never see you again

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I never do see Rose again.  I walk out of the hospital and sob quietly all the way to the car.  The tears don’t actually come very often this year, but when they surface, I know it’s important to let them come. 

I shed tears on this evening not only for Rose, but for other dear patients I’ve lost this year. I shed them for the brokenness and heartache we must face so often in medicine. Some tears bubble up from the deep wells of sadness that still linger from all that we lost in the pandemic. A few of these tears even come from reminiscing about summer camp with my siblings.

I sing the words of Amazing Grace over the verses of Peaceful Easy Feeling the entire drive home, and the tears eventually slow. I gather myself in the garage before heading inside, and find myself truly grateful to be greeted with the comforts and coziness of home. I text my brother and sisters, and make sure to hug my wife and kids just a little bit tighter tonight. I imagine Rose somewhere peaceful and easy, standing once again on solid ground.

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Tell me Crash Cart Campfire friends:

• What songs from summer camp or other group experiences from your youth do you still fall back on from time to time?

• Had a good cry lately? Do you need to?

• What’s on your mixtape?