My Experience with Memory: Performing at Bridges by EPOCH
By Olivia Reinig ’28
The first time I walked into Bridges by EPOCH, I was twelve years old. My clunky violin case bumped against my leg and my heart raced, not out of stage fright but from not knowing what to expect. The room consisted of one large touchscreen at the front with chairs facing it. A man, whom I would later know fondly as Larry, sat in the very front row in a wheelchair, his eyes closed. I unpacked my bow, rosined with shaky hands, introduced myself, and began to play.
By the time I played my Irish tune the first time through, the residents seemed more attentive. The man in the front row tapped his foot. Others clapped their hands and smiled. At the end of my performance, I walked away after saying my thanks, but Larry stopped me. He told me about his musical past and how he once sang with Frank Sinatra. Our conversation ended with a hug and a “see you soon.” I have been coming back ever since.
Bridges by EPOCH is a memory care community: a place designed for residents living with dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. It’s a place where the timeline of a person’s life can grow blurry at the edges, where names and faces often slip away without one’s control. And yet, again and again, I have watched music do something that no medication, no therapy, and no amount of careful explanation can quite replicate: it reaches through memory fog and finds someone who is still entirely, unmistakably there.
Over the years, I’ve organized and led performances at Bridges that have grown to include fellow students, first from Derby Academy, where I attended middle school, and now from Milton. During these performances, we come with instruments and voices. Some people perform in small groups of two to three, while others perform alone and play for a room full of strangers. Although this can be daunting, the residents at Bridges absolutely adore each and every performance. The room is a low-pressure environment for musicians playing with all levels of experience. Even if a performer makes a mistake, they are still accepted and appreciated.
What goes on during a performance is difficult to describe to someone who hasn’t lived it. A resident who has said almost nothing all morning will hum along to a song I’m playing or sing along to the words of a song they knew seventy years ago. Someone will reach out and take the hand of the person beside them. Others will close their eyes, and whatever goes on behind those eyes leaves them looking lighter and more themselves. I think about what it means to give someone access to a memory they didn't know they had. It is by no means a small thing; in fact, it may be the least small thing I have ever been part of.
For the Milton students who join me, I hope these afternoons leave a mark as they have on me. I was twelve when I first understood that a violin could be more than an instrument, that it could be a bridge between past and present, isolation and connection, and a person and the version of themselves they were afraid they’d lost. I keep coming back to Bridges by EPOCH because that understanding has never left me, and I keep bringing others because I believe that it’s the kind of thing that should not be kept to oneself.