Magic when music unlocks memory

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 04/09/2024 (568 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Mom is nowhere to be found when I visit her nursing home.

Not asleep in the lobby or napping in her room.

Not having a cup of tea in the dining room. Not playing Scrabble in the library.

And then I hear the music.

I take the stairs to the second-floor games room, where there’s a band playing — two guitars and an accordion — cranking out a playlist of traditional Newfoundland music and old-time country songs.

Walkers are scattered between the rows of chairs.

I spot an empty place next to my mother.

“Oh hi!” she says.

There is recognition in her eyes, almost as if she had been expecting me.

“What did you say your name is?”

“Pam.”

“Right, and I’m…?”

“Vera,” I say.

She squeezes my hand and laughs. “I’m glad we’ve got that all straightened out.”

I see residents I recognize from the lobby who often seem lost in their own thoughts who are now animated — smiling, swaying, clapping and tapping their feet.

The music resonates with them, clearly.

My mother holds my hand throughout the concert, smiling and sometimes humming along.

At one point she looks around the room and can’t control her outburst: “They’re all going grey!” she says, laughing at her own observation.

It is the first time in a long time that I’ve seen my mother experience joy.

When Alzheimer’s has taken virtually everything from you, I imagine there is precious little joy to be found, day to day.

I worry about her quality of life at this stage, when a fair bit of her day is spent asleep or staring into space.

At Northwestern Medicine, a non-profit research-focused health-care system based in Chicago, Ill., academics are studying how music intervention can improve communication for people with Alzheimer’s and other dementias.

Dr. Borna Bonakdarpour is a neurologist at Northwestern. He’s also a musician who is interested in how music stimulates our brains.

“When we use musical intervention, we’re looking for areas and networks in the brain that are intact to serve as bridges and help the areas that are not working well,” Bonakdarpour says in an article on Northwestern’s website. “Singing, for example, can be a bridge to communicating better through language. The rhythmic nature of music can help people walk better.”

I’ve always known that Alzheimer’s progresses through the brain, beginning in areas where memories are stored and ending in the brain stem, which controls a person’s ability to swallow.

What I did not know, but have now learned from Northwestern Medicine, is that, “The long-term memory of music remains intact until the very late stages of disease progression, right before the disease attacks the brainstem. It is currently unknown why Alzheimer’s disease affects this area last.”

This explains why, even though my mother’s capacity for conversation is diminishing, she still sings regularly, albeit sometimes with “found” lyrics.

But let’s get back to the concert.

There is a poignant moment when the trio plays Darling Say You’ll Love Me When I’m Old.

The lyrics have more meaning in this audience, where there is not a couple to be seen. I imagine most of the residents here are nursing grief, silently wishing that the love they shared their life with would walk into this room and sweep them onto the dance floor one more time.

When dark clouds gather round and nights are cold

And say you’ll never trade our love for gold

Oh darling say you’ll love me when I’m old

The sadness is shattered with the next song, a lively jig.

A bespectacled frail-looking man I had been watching — because he reminded me of my dad in his later years — suddenly jumped out of his chair and started dancing.

Wearing a red-and-black checked shirt and jeans, he danced out his love of the music, performing the high-stepping fancy footwork of a Newfoundland jig that I had not seen the like of for years. Halfway through the song, he collapsed into a nearby loveseat — done in, but laughing and beaming.

For a time, he had been himself again.

“People with Alzheimer’s may come alive again when they hear music,” Bonakdarpour explained in the Northwestern article. “Some start dancing alone or with their caregivers, which is a very big deal. Caregivers find the person lost to them in the context of music.”

And so, for a time, I have found my mother again, until the music stops and people claim their walkers and shuffle back to their rooms.

“I’m tired now and I want to lie down,” Mom said, taking my hand and smiling.

“But I was so glad you came.”

Pam Frampton is a freelance writer and editor who lives in St. John’s.

pamelajframpton@gmail.com

X: pam_frampton