Shortly after my diagnosis, I started to feel (not necessarily based on reality, but undeniably what I felt) like I was being abandoned, that long-time friends were uncomfortable continuing a relationship with a person with dementia, no matter what stage they were in. Suddenly, people that I’d had ongoing communication with started not communicating. I felt ghosted, and ghost-like. (This concern was recently validated when I was watching a show about the residents of an assisted living facility, who stopped interacting with the fellow residents who were “losing it” cognitively, one step away from a memory care unit. The reason given? They thought if they stayed around these addled former friends they might somehow “catch it.”) It was a very sad and lonely time, when, what I needed more than anything, were conversation partners!
For most of my life I have not been a “chaser.” If I reached out to someone a couple of times with no response, I was able to “write them off,’ determining that it wasn’t worth the time to pursue a friendship that had become one-sided. I withdrew – from social media, from gatherings with people for whatever reason, even from my own family members. My life had become reading and listening to music, cutting off the world with my noise cancelling headphones.
It got really bad, the hole threatening to swallow me. Encouraged by Gina, I tried to re-engage with a few of my previous relationships, and one or two old friends cautiously eased their way back, when they saw how articulate I was. Yes, I could carry on an intelligent, appropriate conversation. Yes, I could laugh at things, even my own predicament. Yes, I was still mostly Ned Andrew.
I’ve written extensively about losing the ability to play guitar, sing my songs, recall lyrics or chords, and that once Gina bought me my Dolphin Gray Stratocaster, I was able to re-teach myself to form chords and remember lyrics, regaining some muscle memory in the process. And, for the first time in 20+ years, I was composing. Mostly instrumentals, but hey – I was thrilled with the results of practicing two-to-three hours a day. Well, this song, “I’m Still Here,” began as an instrumental, but after repeated playings, I started to sing “I’m still here,” and it evolved into a chorus.
If you listen, you’ll notice that the “verses” have a sweet melody with pretty chords, and the choruses are more intense and dark. That was how I went about my days – things were basically fine in my less-demanding retirement, but then I’d get hurt, discouraged, and yes, angry that I was being shut out, and dismissed.
I immersed myself in guitar playing, composing, and recording songs at Azalea Studio with Fett, who was incredibly patient (most of the time!) and, who actually seemed to enjoy my company and the music we were collaborating on. A few new friends came into the fold, and I even got back in touch with some musicians that I’d played with before. I also began to realize that one reason I wasn’t hearing back from some people was because they were crazy busy and unable to devote the time and energy to be “pen pals” with the retired me. I learned, with Gina’s sweet coaching, to give some folks grace.
Although things have improved, I continue to have occasional “I’m still here!” moments during my lowest days. But, to quote a favorite singer-songwriter, Gretta Ray, “hey, I got a song out of it.”
I’m Still Here
Music & Lyrics copyright 2024, Ned Andrew Solomon
Recorded at Azalea Studio, Nashville
Recording, Engineering, & Production: Fett
Acoustic & Electric Guitars, vocals: Ned Andrew Solomon
Bass, Percussion, & Keys: Fett
Drums: R. P. Chester
Videography: Bernie Lynette
Executive & Video Production: Gina Lynette
cosmic as always.
I appreciate that, Ted!