At 84, Margaret McKechnie looks frail and tired after a long struggle with cancer.

Late-afternoon light warms her Medford nursing home. I’lana Cotton hums a note and a half dozen singers join in:

May I be an instrument of peace...

Their voices are soft and quiet, peaceful and reassuring:

May I be an instrument of peace...

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Several singers pause for a few beats and then resume, transforming the simple song into a round. Others add a harmony:

May I be an instrument of peace...

For the next half hour, the women who call themselves the Threshold Choir sing for McKechnie. Family members join them in simple, unadorned songs and chants:

If not love, what are we here for...

If not love, what are we here for...

Singing at the bedside of those who are struggling — some with living, some with dying — is an ancient tradition that Cotton discovered when she lived in California. She sang with Kate Munger, who organized several choirs around the San Francisco Bay Area, and brought the idea to Southern Oregon when she moved to Medford.

Cotton has recruited about 20 Rogue Valley women to sing with her. Their ages range from 28 to 80. Some, like Cotton, have formal music training and a lifelong involvement in music. Others just like to sing.

"More than half the choir doesn’t read music," Cotton says. "The songs aren’t hard to learn."

Sandy Folsom came to the choir after years of singing in music theater. "I was looking for something more service-oriented. This is something we can do to help the passing of a loved one."

The songs are drawn from many cultures and tend to be spiritual without being religious. There are chants from the Hindu and Buddhist traditions, American Indian songs, Hebrew songs and melodies that sound almost like Gregorian chants.

"More often than not our songs are shorter than most familiar songs would be," Cotton says. "You don’t have to worry about the words — they’re not very complicated."

"We’re not entertainers," says Sarah Seybold, co-director of the choir along with Cotton. "It’s almost like a mantra. It’s really about creating a meditative space.

"It’s much more about intent than performance," Cotton says. "It’s a spiritual ministry in a sense."

"They’re not a choir in the traditional sense," says Mary Jo Baich, McKechnie’s niece. Baich sang with choir members recently when they came to visit her aunt.

"It’s like a prayer," Baich says. "She really looks forward to it each week."

Leona Mitchell watched the choir’s songs help her mother, Alberta Comtois, through the end of life back in January.

"It was nourishing for her," Mitchell says. "She sat there and she listened and she smiled and she blew kisses to them and said ‘Thank you’ over and over. It was like they took her to another place.

"It was truly an uplift and carried my mom through. It was like she was listening to angels.

"They made me want to sing," Mitchell says. "My brother came and sang, too. We did some harmonizing."

Choir members draw strength from the songs, too.

"We’re all at various stages of recognizing our own mortality," says Seybold, the choir co-director. "Having the privilege of being that close to those people helps us to be more conscious of and grateful for what we have."

Cotton says the singing makes it easy to forget life’s daily frustrations. "I realized within five minutes of singing I had left my life behind. It’s prayerful. It’s quiet. You’re in touch with your own best self.

"It’s a real blessing and a real honor to be with a person at this special time of their life."

Choir practices on alternate Sundays

There is no charge, but choir members accept donations for the group’s expenses.

The choir meets to practice from 3 to 5 p.m. every other Sunday at a member’s home in Ashland.

Women who want to join the choir, or families who would like to arrange "a gift of voices," can call I’lana Cotton at 772-4022 or Sarah Seybold at 488-3306.

Reach reporter Bill Kettler at 776-4492, or e-mail bkettler@mailtribune.com