Music Brings My Grandmother Back

Alex Billingsley is a high school senior dedicated to making a difference in the fight against Alzheimer’s disease through her Instagram, alexforalzheimers, where she raises funds and awareness for research. Beyond her advocacy, Alex finds joy in playing soccer and guitar, using her passions to connect with others. Her essay, inspired by her relationship with her grandmother who suffers from dementia, emphasizes the profound impact of music in bridging connections with those experiencing cognitive decline.

Suddenly my grandma was back. She’s laughing and her eyes have lit up again. She’s dancing around and her sass has resurfaced. Everything feels just like it did when I was a little kid, and she had yet to be diagnosed. All of the parts of her that Alzheimer’s disease has tried to steal come back to life when Frank Sinatra’s opening notes reach the air. Music brings my grandmother back. 

Sharing these special moments with my grandma as her Alzheimer’s progresses make it all worth it. The importance of supporting her through every negative moment, every tear, every move, and every loss is clear when the woman we all love is able to break through the shell of dementia for even just a few minutes. 

My name is Alex, and my family and I are proud caretakers of Kathleen Vernot, my grandmother. She is an unbelievably strong woman, and raised three incredible daughters despite the world seemingly working against her. She supported all of them, and was a constant in the lives of not only her children, but her grandchildren as well. 

In 2013, she was diagnosed with early-onset dementia, which made her a rare case considering she was only 65. She had recently moved from her home in Northeast Philadelphia to an apartment complex five minutes from my house. I was six, so admittedly, I had no idea what dementia was. I couldn’t grasp the idea of my grandma losing her memory, yet I have a vivid memory of being told she wouldn’t remember my name one day, and that seemed unfathomable. She was no longer able to babysit my brother and me once she was diagnosed, and quickly, her diagnosis had a huge impact on all of our lives. 

My parents were always talking about this thing called Alzheimer’s, and we were always visiting my grandma to keep her occupied. When I got to middle school, we moved her to a nursing home. Facilities lacked effective memory care, so we continued to move her around until we found the place of her current residence. There were constant ups and downs and countless moments of frustration, but it was all worth it to keep my grandmother’s quality of life positive. Each move, we watched her human abilities slowly fade away. 

In the last two years, her condition has taken a sharp decline. We aren’t able to visit as often, and she has no idea who any of us are or why we are removing her from her home. We drove her to Christmas at my aunt’s house last year — which is when we discovered the miraculous effect of music on the Alzheimer’s brain.

Music has always been a huge part of my life. I have spent great amounts of time playing, singing, listening to, and analyzing music. Music is my escape. When I listen to music, it runs life through the veins of my body. I feel it in my soul. 

Frank Sinatra has always been my grandma’s favorite. On the car ride to my aunt’s house, we shuffled some famous Sinatra songs. I had never seen anything like it: My grandma started singing, and singing every word. Every moment of that drive was beautiful, and beyond emotional. The woman that had once taken care of everyone in that car was almost herself again. Her brain that couldn’t place our identities moments ago could suddenly recite every word to “My Way.” Picking up on this, we began playing music for her every time we saw her. Each and every time, it would snap her out of the dark trance she was in prior. 

She was recently put on hospice. She was no longer eating, and barely functioning. This was one of the scariest moments of her entire journey for all of us. My mom and I went to visit her, fully prepared for her to be unresponsive to us. The effect of music on her brain would truly be put to the greatest test. 

We arrived, and she was barely present. She wouldn’t say a word, and was reluctant to even walk to one of the sitting rooms with us. We gave her a seat, and I began to play Frank Sinatra on my phone. 

Slowly, lights began to switch on in her brain. I watched her process the music:  as each note entered her body, a new switch turned on, and she began to glow again. She danced and sang with me. She laughed and she cried. She felt the music. I felt the music. The moment was real and alive and human. No dementia could break the connection we shared for the 10 minutes we sang, listened, and danced. Nothing else in the world seemed to exist. 

The grandmother I know so well is not gone, even though she may feel lost in dark moments. Her soul is the same, and Alzheimer’s will never take that away. 

Music is food for the soul, and provides light for the clouded minds. To connect with my grandma in these moments is one of the greatest treasures of life. I will cherish these small but incredible breakthroughs forever — even when she can no longer dance and sing with me.