Listen to the audio version of this story here. “Honey, I don’t know who you are but thank God you’ve come. We haven’t had music around this place for years,” cried Mrs Young one afternoon, as I arrived with a small guitar strapped to my back and a cart full of drums, rattles, and tambourines rolling behind me. “What’s your name?” asked Mrs Hall, looking absently into my brown eyes. I smiled at the two women. I’ve known both for almost a decade. I’ve kept a bi-weekly appointment with this group of memory care residents for 12 years, and have witnessed the gradual and relen...