Music, memories and ageing

Alzheimer and dementia patients really aren't anything at all like what the general public thinks of them... Their minds aren't gone, (changed,yes.. but gone, definitely not) they often have a great sense of humour, they're caring, kind and compassionate to others, and they remember the most amazing things.

Here's my best anecdotal evidence of all of the above. Back in 2000, I hadn't been working long (just one year) as a therapeutic musician. While playing in a locked-unit (dementia unit) a small, elderly woman said to me, "Excuse me dear, I have to go see God now." She said this as she took slow, careful steps toward another part of the room.

I thought, "How polite she is! I'll bet she's going to the bathroom." I continued playing for the other people in the room (we were gathered together in a circle.) Probably five minutes later, a staff person found the woman on the floor, hidden by a table, where she'd very quietly died.
Later, I reflected on how honest and polite she'd been, even while being called out of this life.
(The tune I'd played before she got up and walked away was "Mary's a Grand Old Name"... and yes, that was her first name...)

Today, "V" told me (again in a locked unit) that getting old is difficult, but the music I played brought to life such wonderful memories. Now consider this~ she also told me that she remembered Brother B (the greyhound... "Dr. Love") from other visits. "V" said, "You've brought him here before, haven't you?" That was an amazing statement to make, considering I go to this particular unit only once every other month. And he has, indeed, been visiting with me at that unit for the past year.

Scenarios like these happen regularly. Also today, "A" told, between songs and asking many times "does that dog belong to you?" that she'd had a small dog a long time ago, to keep her company at night while her husband worked. It was a small, black dog, she said, named "Rin-Tin-Tin."

Yesterday (while I played in a locked unit again) "B" paced around trying to leave the unit. He wanted to get home. But a few minutes later, he was sitting in a kitchen chair with a sublime look on his face. He was somewhere really good, that was clear. After over an hour's worth of playing, I got up to go. As I passed him I took his hand and said, "thanks for letting me play in your home." He said something I didn't hear, so I leaned close and asked what he'd just said. "B" said in the softest voice, "I'd rather listen to you than anything else." I think what he really meant was that the music was re-playing the good memories of his life. I know I'm glad he was able to enjoy it, again.