A Part Will Always Stay

After my mom died of early-onset dementia in 2006, I became quietly obsessed with keeping my brain healthy. Her decline was so fast—too fast. We could barely keep up as she moved from her home, to assisted living, to nursing care. One of my deepest fears has always been that I might follow the same path.

So on my birthday in 2015, I made a decision. I picked up a guitar.

I loved music, but this wasn’t just about passion. I had read that learning an instrument could create new neural pathways, helping to preserve brain function. Every time I felt frustrated as a beginner, I’d think of Mom—how much she loved music. I’d picture those little neural connections forming in my mind, like sparks. That image still inspires me today.

As I got more comfortable with the guitar, a new desire emerged: I wanted to create. I took songwriting workshops and started writing lyrics. Eventually, I collaborated with a friend to write a song called “It Occurs to Me.” It was about aging and legacy. The chorus goes:

It occurs to me, life is never done,like the rising sun, it occurs to me.It occurs to me, a part will always stay,to live another day, it occurs to me.

My dad loved that song.

On February 22, 2020—just before the COVID shutdown—I sat beside him in hospice and sang it to him as he took his last breaths.

He had randomly bought the guitar I used at an auction for a hundred bucks. He never played it. But it always sat propped up in his living room for me to use whenever I visited. That moment—sitting on his bed, playing his guitar, singing the words I wrote—felt like the reason I had ever picked up the instrument in the first place. Every chord I’d practiced was for that moment.

I’ve since upgraded to a custom Martin 00-28 that I adore. But that old auction guitar still holds a special place in my heart.

My guitar journey has grown into something bigger. I started a YouTube channel and a website where I collect and share my songs as a legacy project—for my kids, my grandson Eli, and future generations. I recently became a grandma, and recorded a whole collection of children’s songs just for him.

And those lyrics? They still ring true:

A part will always stay, to live another day.

Even when I’m gone, my songs—and the love behind them—will remain. That’s what the guitar gave me: a way to remember, to honor, and to pass something on.

Never underestimate the power of a song.

After my mom died of early-onset dementia in 2006, I became quietly obsessed with keeping my brain healthy. Her decline was so fast—too fast. We could barely keep up as she moved from her home, to assisted living, to nursing care. One of my deepest fears has always been that I might follow the same path.

So on my birthday in 2015, I made a decision. I picked up a guitar.

I loved music, but this wasn’t just about passion. I had read that learning an instrument could create new neural pathways, helping to preserve brain function. Every time I felt frustrated as a beginner, I’d think of Mom—how much she loved music. I’d picture those little neural connections forming in my mind, like sparks. That image still inspires me today.

As I got more comfortable with the guitar, a new desire emerged: I wanted to create. I took songwriting workshops and started writing lyrics. Eventually, I collaborated with a friend to write a song called “It Occurs to Me.” It was about aging and legacy. The chorus goes:

It occurs to me, life is never done,like the rising sun, it occurs to me.It occurs to me, a part will always stay,to live another day, it occurs to me.

My dad loved that song.

On February 22, 2020—just before the COVID shutdown—I sat beside him in hospice and sang it to him as he took his last breaths.

He had randomly bought the guitar I used at an auction for a hundred bucks. He never played it. But it always sat propped up in his living room for me to use whenever I visited. That moment—sitting on his bed, playing his guitar, singing the words I wrote—felt like the reason I had ever picked up the instrument in the first place. Every chord I’d practiced was for that moment.

I’ve since upgraded to a custom Martin 00-28 that I adore. But that old auction guitar still holds a special place in my heart.

My guitar journey has grown into something bigger. I started a YouTube channel and a website where I collect and share my songs as a legacy project—for my kids, my grandson Eli, and future generations. I recently became a grandma, and recorded a whole collection of children’s songs just for him.

And those lyrics? They still ring true:

A part will always stay, to live another day.

Even when I’m gone, my songs—and the love behind them—will remain. That’s what the guitar gave me: a way to remember, to honor, and to pass something on.

Never underestimate the power of a song.