A Part Will Always Stay
From daughter to grandmother, one song carried it all. A quiet moment of love, memory, and something meant to last.
By Wendy Drexler
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.
Hopefully once I understand sharps and flats, I’ll finally be able to figure out songs by ear instead of just watching YouTube tutorials.
This is exactly what I needed to hear! I’ve been playing guitar for a few months now and I can play some basic chords, but I realized I was just copying finger positions without actually understanding what I was playing. Learning that notes are basically the written language of guitar totally clicked for me—it makes so much sense why understanding the musical alphabet would make everything else fall into place. I’m definitely going to work through this lesson, even though theory kind of intimidated me before. Hopefully once I understand sharps and flats, I’ll finally be able to figure out songs by ear instead of just watching YouTube tutorials.
Around the same time, my sister suggested I pick up guitar lessons again, something I hadn’t done since college. I was skeptical at first, but forcing my hands to work through the soreness and clumsiness gave me a small sense of control back. Concentrating on chords and rhythm helped quiet the constant nerve chatter. It wasn’t a cure, but it made the waiting between doctor visits far more bearable.
That article, though, was the real shift. It explained the difference between standard symptom management and actual emerging therapies like IVIG for immune-mediated cases and even sodium-channel blockers. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was just “living with it.” I took the printout to my neurologist, and we finally started talking about advanced options that made sense. If you’re tired of being told there’s nothing to do but manage the pain, read that piece. It gave me a path forward when I thought I had none.
so great, i like that
beautiful guitar. It reminds me visually of Martin’s CEO-7, but has a much brighter high end. Sounds as good as it looks.
The emotional journey described here truly resonates. The power of music as a tool for healing and cognitive preservation is profound. Wendy’s dedication to learning the guitar not only honors her mother’s memory but also showcases the transformative impact of art on personal growth and well-being.