Has this happened to you?

You’re walking through the grocery store, and an “old favorite” song sings over the store’s sound system.  Bam! There you are, instantly catapulted back in time.  You know where you were, who you were with, and what you felt like when you first loved that song.  The experience is so mesmerizing that you start singing the lyrics and rocking to the beat in the center of the frozen food aisle.

I totally get it!  That happens to me more often than I should probably admit.

I took piano lessons from my preschool teacher.  I’m pretty sure I was not in preschool when I took the lessons, but I was young.  Mom signed me up for piano lessons with Mrs. Beck to keep me out of trouble.  Preschool classes were held downstairs in the room with the big chalkboard on the wall.  Piano lessons were upstairs in the formal living room with white carpet and a grand piano.

Mrs. Beck was always old. She had white salon-styled short hair.  Grown kids.  No dog.  She made popcorn balls for the trick-or-treaters on Halloween.  I trick or treated at Mrs. Becks house every year. 

When teaching piano, she sat on the piano bench real close.  Close enough that I could feel her shoulder against mine and smell her old lady breath when she counted out the beats. Mrs. Beck had a passion for teaching music.  It was mostly lost on me.

I took violin lessons long enough to make the violin sing, not squeak, but not long enough to learn vibrato on the strings. As hard as I tried and as much as I practiced (which wasn’t much), I never made it past the third chair. I decided it just wasn’t for me.

Then, I took flute lessons from my friend’s mom.  I was finally committed to an instrument I was going to stick with (until I found the saxophone).  I even learned to play the Piccolo, sort of. I played in the high school marching band. My commitment, though, was shallow.  The practice took too much time and was… hard.  I didn’t love it.  I chose friends instead.

There was also the guitar, the recorder, the drums sort of (as much as possible without an internal feel for the beat), and, of course, singing.  I wanted to be a good singer but…

Then I met Doug.  Music was in him.  He felt it.  He knew it.  He heard it and loved it and sang it. He could really sing.  Choir was his thing.  Doug knew all the best songs.  He had all the latest equipment -the coolest receivers and turntables and tape decks – He had it all. Music rocked in his house. He loved classical and jazz, current pop, old pop, and even Gregorian Chanting.  Christmas music started BEFORE Thanksgiving.  His dad sang like Frank Sinatra, and his sister majored in music in college.

Doug brought the love of music to me and to our kids.

Music transcends time.  It arouses the future and provides a direct link to the past.  It is embedded in the fabric of human culture and identity and elicits untold emotions and memories.

Music plus dementia is fascinating.  There has been lots of research on the topic.  But for me, music plus dementia is a lifeline and a tool. 

Doug and I recently moved.  The move required a 15-hour road trip.  For many reasons, I wanted to make the trip in one day (COVID and dementia at the top of the list).  Doug’s sister Lisa (the one who majored in music in college) came and helped with the drive, with the mood, and with the fun. She made the long one-day drive a reality.

We set out on our journey at 5:30am.  By the time we were 13 hours in, we were tired, and it was dark. The GPS said a little more than two hours were looming before us.  I was in the driver’s seat. Doug was in the front passenger seat, and Lisa sat behind me.

Doug had faired the trip well thus far. You never know how traveling with dementia is going to go.  It could go either way.  Dementia could misbehave and cause anxiety, agitation, and all manner of ick. Or dementia could behave and bless you with tolerance, calm, and patience.  We were lucky so far.  Doug had done better on this trip than I expected he would.  But at this point in the drive, our luck felt like it might be changing.  Doug was getting squirrelly.  He shifted left and then shifted right.  His words were few.  His head bobbed in drowsiness until his neck snapped him back to attention.  He was weary and a bit agitated.   Truth is, we all were.

Lisa and music are almost the same word.

She was the master of ceremonies throughout the trip.  Lisa made sure music sang in the background most of the time.   But at this point in the journey, when we were all ready for it to be over, Lisa and music became front and center.  She magically and intentionally connected time and place with songs. Lisa played songs from childhood and matched them to the house with the blue shag carpet.  She played songs from high school days and matched them with neighborhood shenanigans.  She played songs their dad loved to sing, and she played songs Doug used to blast on his sound system.

Doug instantly came alive.  The mood in the car flipped.  Doug laughed and sang.  He became verbal and talked.  We danced (as much as you can when sitting in a car) and we remembered.  Names that hadn’t been spoken in decades came to life.  Details awoke.  The two-plus remaining hours on the road vanished in no time at all, and dementia never misbehaved.

As we arrived at our destination some 15-plus hours later, Doug said, “That was the best day ever!” 

In our house, there is always a melody playing.   Right now, it’s all about Christmas carols in every genre.  By January, I will be very ready to put the Christmas carols to rest and trade them out for a new song.  But I am sure Doug will still hum the carols and whistle them all the way into July.

In my early life, music lessons weren’t exactly my thing.  But now, music is my everything.  It has become my lifeline and tool that effortlessly creates peace, grace, voice, and remembering.

I am grateful.

Karen

P.S. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas…”