I discovered it by accident. I was sitting with her one afternoon and love story came on the radio in her memory care facility. Grandma Eleanor, who couldn’t remember eating breakfast, who’d asked me my name three times that day, started singing along. Every word, every note, perfect. I stopped breathing. Grandma, how do you know this song? She looked at me confused.
Everyone knows this song, dear, but you don’t remember anything else. Who are you again? She asked. I pulled out my phone and played. You belong with me. She sang every word. Shake it off. Every word, blank space, every word. Song after song. She knew them all. Her face would light up. She’d smile for 3 minutes. She wasn’t confused or lost. She was just singing.
I went home and researched it. Turns out music memory is stored differently in the brain than other memories. It’s in multiple regions, deeply embedded. One of the last things Alzheimer’s takes. Some patients who can’t recognize their own children can still sing songs from their youth. It’s called the music memory phenomenon.
For Grandma Elellanena, those songs were Taylor Swift. She’d become a fan late in life. Started listening when I was a teenager and obsessed. She’d humor me, play the albums while we baked cookies, learned the words while I sang them too loud in her car. Those memories were so strong, so deeply embedded that even Alzheimer’s couldn’t touch them.
Every day after that, I’d visit and play Taylor Swift. For those 3 minutes per song, I had my grandmother back. Not completely. She still didn’t know my name, but she was present. She was happy. She was Elellanena. My mom and I talked about it constantly. She remembers the songs, but not us. Mom said crying. How is that fair? It wasn’t fair, but it was something.
It was more than we had with anything else. The era store was announced a year after grandma’s diagnosis. I didn’t even think about going. I was spending all my time with her, watching her fade. Concerts felt trivial compared to losing her. But one day, I was playing Marjgery in her room. The song Taylor wrote about her grandmother who died.
Grandma Elellanena was singing along. And when it got to the line, what died didn’t stay dead, she started crying. Not confused crying. Real emotional crying. That’s beautiful, she said. Who sings this? Taylor Swift grandma. I love her, she said simply. That’s when I had the idea. It was crazy. She was 76 with advanced Alzheimer’s.
She could barely leave the facility. She needed help with everything. Taking her to a stadium concert with 70,000 people was objectively a terrible idea, but she loved Taylor Swift. It was the only thing she still loved that she could articulate, and I was losing her. The doctors said she’d declined to nonverbal within months.
This might be the last chance. I talked to my mom. I want to take grandma to the era tour. Emma, she can’t she can’t do anything else anymore. I interrupted. She can’t read, can’t watch TV, can’t have real conversations, but she can sing Taylor Swift. What if? What if the concert brings her back? Even for a little while, mom was skeptical, but desperate.
We were both desperate. Desperate for any moment with the woman we were losing. I spent $2,000 I didn’t have on two tickets. nosebleleed seats, but we’d be there. I coordinated with the memory care facility, got medical approval, arranged for a wheelchair, and portable oxygen just in case. I planned every detail obsessively because I knew this might be the last big thing I ever did with my grandmother.
The day of the concert, I picked her up. She didn’t know where we were going. “Where are we going, dear?” she asked in the car. to see Taylor Swift. Grandma, oh, how nice. No recognition that she loved Taylor Swift. No excitement, just polite acknowledgement. I played Taylor songs the whole drive. She sang along to everyone.
When I’d ask her questions between songs, “Do you know who I am? Do you remember we’re going to a concert?” She’d look confused, but the moment a song started, she was there. Getting into the stadium was overwhelming. The crowds, the noise, the lights. Grandma Elellanena was agitated and confused. Where are we? Who are all these people? I want to go home.
I almost turned around. Almost gave up, but we’d made it this far. We got to our seats. Grandma was anxious, asking the same questions over and over. Where are we? Who are you? Why am I here? Then the lights went down and Taylor Swift appeared on stage. The entire stadium erupted and something happened to my grandmother.
She started screaming, actual screaming with joy, jumping up and down. My 76year-old grandmother with Alzheimer’s, jumping and screaming like a teenager. “It’s Taylor. It’s Taylor,” she yelled. And then Taylor started singing Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince. And my grandmother sang every single word. I’m not exaggerating.
Every word, every note, while 70,000 people sang. My grandmother who couldn’t remember my name, who couldn’t remember eating breakfast sang perfectly. Song after song, she knew them all. She was dancing. She was crying. She was singing at the top of her lungs. She turned to me during Lover and grabbed my hand and sang to me, making eye contact, present and joyful.
Then during You’re on your own kid, something shifted. The song talks about growing up, about everything changing, about being alone. Grandma Elellanena was singing along and then she stopped. She turned to me, really looked at me, and her eyes cleared in a way I hadn’t seen in months. “Ema,” she said. I started crying immediately. “Yes, Grandma. It’s me. It’s Emma.
My Emma,” she said and pulled me into a hug. “My beautiful granddaughter, Emma. She knew me. For the first time in 6 months, she knew who I was. I’m here, Grandma. I’m right here. Where are we? She asked, but this time not confused. Actually asking. We’re at the Iris tour. Taylor Swift. You love Taylor Swift.
I do, she said, smiling. We listen to her together, you and me. We bake cookies and sing her songs. She remembered. She actually remembered. For the rest of the concert, two more hours. Grandma Elellanena was completely lucid. She knew who I was. She remembered my mom. She remembered that we were at a concert.
She’d look at me between songs and say, “I can’t believe we’re here together. This is wonderful.” She’d comment on Taylor’s outfits, laugh at the right moments, cry during Marjorie because she understood it was about loss. She was Elellanena, my real grandmother. back during the encore. She turned to me and said, “Thank you for bringing me here, Emma.
