Kaylie Glenn
Executive Director

The Story Behind Day By Day Project

By Kaylie Glenn, Founder & President

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I found my place in dementia care when I was just ten years old.

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My mom worked at a memory care community, and I would often visit to play my violin for the residents. One day, while I was playing, a woman in the audience began to sing along. Afterward, the nurses explained that she had been an opera singer who hadn't spoken in nearly four months.

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At ten years old, I thought I had done something incredible. It wasn't until later that I realized it wasn't me. It was the music.

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That experience left me with a question I couldn't shake: How could someone lose the ability to communicate or recognize loved ones, yet still respond so naturally to music?

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A few years later, with the guidance of Dr. Rhonna Shatz, a neurologist specializing in memory disorders, I started Musical Memories: Day By Day Project. It was a small group of high school students who visited memory care communities to play music, use percussion instruments, and spend time with residents.

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I still remember our first visit. We walked into a room filled with blank stares and people sleeping in their chairs. But as we began playing, the room changed. Eyes opened, feet started tapping, people began singing, and smiles appeared.

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After the music, we stayed to make crafts and talk with the residents. That was when I met Miss Charlotte.

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We spent the afternoon making a Thanksgiving-themed collage, laughing and talking as though we had known each other for years. She was warm, funny, and so easy to connect with. I remember not wanting to leave.

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When we returned the following week, I couldn't wait to see her again.

But when I approached her, she had no idea who I was.

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I was heartbroken. For the first time, I felt a small fraction of what families and caregivers experience every day when someone they love is living with dementia.

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I started asking questions I didn't know how to answer. How could someone forget the people they had spent their life loving? What happens to our identity when we lose our memories? And if someone can't remember a meaningful moment, does that make it any less meaningful?

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Those questions led me to attend conferences, speak with neurologists, listen to families and caregivers, and eventually study neuroscience at The Ohio State University.

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Over the years, my understanding of dementia began to change.

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Instead of focusing only on what the disease takes away, I became fascinated by what remains. Music was one of the most powerful examples. Even as certain cognitive abilities decline, our brains can retain remarkable connections to familiar melodies, rhythms, and musical experiences.

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But I also began to realize something else!  We don't need someone to remember a joyful experience for that experience to matter.

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A person might not remember dancing, singing, or laughing with someone an hour later. But in that moment, they were engaged. They were connected. They were experiencing something meaningful.

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And shouldn't that be enough?

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That belief has shaped everything we've built at Day By Day Project.

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Today, what began as a small student music outreach group has grown into a nonprofit dedicated to making meaningful music engagement part of everyday care.

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Through our Memory Disco™ Program, we partner with senior living communities, dementia care providers, and organizations supporting individuals with developmental disabilities. We provide wireless headphone systems, hearing assistance, guided activities, and staff training to help care teams use music intentionally throughout the day.

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Our goal is to make these experiences accessible beyond an occasional performance or special event. Music can become part of morning routines, exercise, family visits, moments of agitation, and everyday opportunities for connection.

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We've seen individuals who rarely participate begin moving to a familiar song. We've watched people who struggle to communicate find new ways to express themselves. And we've seen staff and families connect with people in ways they hadn't been able to before.

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More than a decade after I first picked up my violin in that memory care community, I'm still learning. But a few things have become clear to me.

Music can reach people when words cannot. It gives us another way to communicate, connect, and participate, even when other abilities have changed.

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Joy doesn't have to be remembered to be meaningful. A moment of laughter, movement, or connection has value simply because it happened.

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There is always a person beyond the diagnosis. Every individual has a lifetime of stories, relationships, and experiences that deserve to be honored, regardless of their ability to recall them.

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And perhaps most importantly, these moments shouldn't be rare. They should be part of everyday life.

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I still think about Miss Charlotte.

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For a long time, I thought the saddest part of our experience was that she didn't remember me the following week.

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Today, I see it differently.

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We shared an afternoon filled with laughter, conversation, and connection. She may not have remembered it, but that doesn't mean she didn't experience it.

The moment mattered, even if the memory didn't last.

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That's the belief behind Day By Day Project, and it's why I continue doing this work.

Thank you, Miss Charlotte.

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