Dementia is stealing her memories. But not her voice.

Drema Yates, 86, wobbles into the sanctuary of Manassas Church of the Brethren in Virginia, clutching tightly onto the arm of her husband, Mike Yates. She relies on Mike, who’s eight years younger, to keep her standing with each unsteady step.

The pair slide onto the end of a red-cushioned pew as they do every other Tuesday. A dozen people are talking in hushed voices, waiting for the rehearsal of the Forgetful Friends Chorus to begin. There’s no auditioning, because the only people allowed to participate are singers who have dementia and their caregivers.

“Singing brings me closer to God,” Drema says. “God is in my world. Without God I wouldn’t know anything.”

Drema can’t remember what she had for breakfast, but she knows she’s been married to Mike for 51 years. He reminds her that he made eggs, toast and coffee.

Drema says matter-of-factly that she has a great memory.

She was diagnosed with dementia four years ago.

“I tried to tell her a couple of times. She gets really defensive and really argumentative over it,” says Mike, who is 78. “She refuses to accept that she’s got dementia.”

So, he avoids the subject altogether.

The chorus

The chorus is rehearsing “The Star Spangled Banner” to open the Walk to End Alzheimer’s, an annual fundraiser hosted by the Alzheimer’s Association. Director Connie Young, who started the choir in 2016, says today is a better turnout than usual.

The group gets together twice a month to rehearse and travels to local senior living facilities to perform. Before the coronavirus pandemic began in 2020, the choir sang for a crowd once every few months. Now the group performs only occasionally.

Most recently, they sang at the funeral of Lisa Bosley, a member who died in May. Her husband, Dave Bosley, still sings with Forgetful Friends. He wants to feel connected to Lisa, he says: “We were married 56 years, 11 months, and 19 days.”

About a year ago, Bosley invited Drema and Mike to join the chorus. They’ve been coming ever since.

Mike is Drema’s support system. It’s the second marriage for both. Each of them has children, but they live alone.

Mike makes Drema breakfast, drives her around and tries to make her happy. Their life is all he has, but it’s slipping away.

“We really had a good life together. To watch all that go away and to know there’s nothing you can do about it,” Mike says. “That’s the hard part, to know that the end is coming. I can see that it’s not as far away as it used to be.”

Procedural memory, a type of long-term memory, is what makes it possible for dementia patients to summon long-ago lyrics, experts say — even as they forget their loved ones’ names, how to write checks and how to take care of themselves.

Singing makes Drema’s memory steadfast and unwavering. At rehearsal, people hold binders with lyrics inside. Although Drema takes one, she doesn’t need it.

“She doesn’t know the day is Tuesday,” Mike says, “but she can sing songs from the 1960s.”

Singing brings clarity

The morning of the fundraiser is 54 degrees. People pull coats tight around their bodies as the morning air nips at their skin.

Mike convinced Drema to use a wheelchair, which he pushes to the pavilion on a street in downtown Manassas. She burrows her hands under the blanket on her lap.

“We should have asked the man upstairs for a little bit of sun,” she says.

Drema can’t remember where the handmade blanket on her lap came from. Mike reminds her it’s a gift from a friend.

Drema can’t remember why she’s at the pavilion. Mike reminds her they’re going to sing.

For one and a half minutes, Drema sings. She beams. She doesn’t appear nervous, or confused, or lost.

After the group sings, Alzheimer’s Association local chapter Vice Chair Michael Farrell gets onstage and says that the walk has raised $203,000. He asks people to “dig a little deeper” and give more money to help end the disease.

Drema says she feels sorry for people who have Alzheimer’s: “We never know who’s going to have it. The doctor put it on my list of stuff that I might get because I’m old. But that hasn’t happened.”

She looks at Mike and asks what they’re doing. He pinches her nose; she giggles. He looks at her tenderly. He wheels her back to the car.

She may not remember for long, but Drema says she had a great time.