“Help! I need somebody …”
When the Beatles sang that plea in 1965, I ached to answer the call. Here they were the Beatles — brilliant, beloved and vulnerable, too. That combination of mega-stardom and sensitivity sent my crush on the mop tops into the stratosphere. The song’s upbeat rhythm sealed the deal. My idols knew better than to set their lyrics to a draggy beat. Instead, they made my awkward 10-year-old self believe that everything would be okay.
Decades later, in my husband Fred’s memory-care unit, the Beatles came to my rescue once again. Visiting someone with dementia is its own kind of drama; unscripted, repetitive and hard to watch. You do your best to fill the silences, to improvise a little hope. In the Hollywood version, of course, it all ends with the cathartic heart-to-heart: cue the soft lighting and swelling violins.
Back in the real world, it’s a different story. Your loved one’s words are confused or slipping away. There are no subtitles to help you understand. Instead, the Beatles song “Help!” starts echoing through your brain. “Won’t you please, please help me.”
You need to get creative. On a whim, I decided to bring Fred Velcro mitts and a ball, hoping some spark of his old athleticism still flickered inside. Sure enough, he slipped on the mitt like a pro and caught the ball I tossed his way. Ah, an activity that didn’t require words! For under 10 bucks I’d found a mood booster better than any drug.
Spoiler alert: Like everything else, the game stopped working after a while.
So I’d take Fred out in his wheelchair, hoping fresh air would do the trick. But, every time I couldn’t understand what he said, a familiar helplessness washed over me. I’d ask if he was hungry, thirsty or needed to use the bathroom. Not exactly the stuff of real bonding. Cue the Beatles once again. “Won’t you please, please help me.”
Then, one day, Fred’s old friend Jay came to visit with his laptop.
Why hadn’t I thought to bring mine? Fred and I loved watching music videos online. So, the next afternoon, I brought over my laptop, typed “Beatles videos with lyrics” into YouTube, and voilà! Within seconds, links to our favorite songs appeared on the screen, complete with lyrics to guides us along.
I clicked, and the room filled with the jangly, irresistible sound of the Beatles. Fred’s eyes flicked toward the screen. His hand twitched, ever so slightly, to the beat. Before long, I clicked on “Help!” and Fred joined in, singing better than he could talk. Finally, I’d hit on something that worked!
It was like opening a window. The music floated in, the mood lifted, and for a few glorious minutes, Fred and I were just two Beatles fans again — singing along to a song that still knew how to help.
So began our ritual of singing along to about 10 videos a visit. As I sat beside Fred in his wheelchair, the Beatles became our interpreters. Their harmonies slipped through the cracks of language that dementia had stolen. I felt lighter. The songs did what conversation couldn’t: They lifted us.
Only later did I learn that “Help!” wasn’t the happy romp I’d always assumed. John Lennon wrote it during what he called his “fat Elvis period,” when fame felt suffocating. His demo was slow, almost mournful. But producer George Martin and the rest of the band wanted something more commercial, more Beatles-bright. They sped up the tempo, cranked the guitars, and turned John’s private cry into a pop anthem.
I can just hear Fred saying, “I bet the original was better.” He adored John, the uncompromising artist; a spirit Fred brought to his own fiction writing. I’m more a pop girl at heart.
Whatever your musical taste, you’ll find it on YouTube. The site can be a miracle worker. With the touch of a button, you can summon your loved one’s favorite artists and songs, complete with scrolling lyrics and voilà! The awkward silence gets filled.
And so I keep my portable jukebox close; a playlist of connection I can bring out anytime, anywhere. Whether it’s the Beatles, Louis Armstrong, or Bruce Springsteen, the right song can crack open a closed room, soften a hard day, and keep us in sync. Maybe you’ve got a few tunes like that, too — the kind that replay your best memories and make you want to sing along.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter — complete with links to bonus content such as music videos and fun facts — by emailing her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.