- When Holly Willis’s father was suffering from Dementia, she thought he would forget how to play his beloved guitar
- He could still belt out a tune! Sadly, in March 2018, he passed away
- When her father passed, Holly picked up two of his prized guitars through which to remember him
- In 2022, when moving, the guitars fell off the back of the truck
- Luckily, this wasn’t her last time seeing them…
- Holly Willis, 44 from Wooli NSW shares her story below…
Sitting beside my dad Gerry’s nursing home bed, my eyes welled with tears as he picked up his guitar.
It was March 2018, and, aged 77, Dad was suffering with dementia, so I knew he wouldn’t be able to play it.
To my surprise, he began to strum Johnny Cash’s Highwayman perfectly.
“Great choice,” I beamed at him.
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Dad had been a musician his whole life, saving up to buy his first guitar when he was 17.
In his early 20s, he’d played in pubs and clubs all over Sydney, both as a soloist and in bands.
Even after he married my mum, Christine, and they moved to Dad’s hometown of Yerong Creek, NSW, and had me and my four siblings, he still found time for gigs.
One of my earliest memories is falling asleep under the table in one of the pubs he was playing in.
When I was growing up, he’d often sit at the end of my bed strumming John Williamson songs, or ones he’d written himself.
While I wasn’t super musical, I became an artist and knew I’d inherited my creative talents from Dad.
When he passed away later that month, we were all devastated.
As we divided up his belongings, we discovered he owned over 20 guitars.
I took two home – a small one I was determined to learn to play, and another, on which Dad had drawn a self-portrait.
It felt like Dad was with me when I was near them.
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In late 2022, I moved from Armidale, NSW, to Wooli with my partner, Scott, 42, and my two daughters, Emmy-Lou, 14, and Sofia, 12.
A few months after we moved in, Scott and I drove back to Armidale to get some of my belongings out of storage.
As we loaded them into the ute, I placed Dad’s guitars on top, lovingly wrapped and packed in plastic.
We then covered everything with a sheet.
After the four-hour drive back, we were both exhausted, but decided to unload the ute.
“The guitars!” I cried, as we began to unpack. “They’re gone!”
“They must’ve fallen off the back,” Scott said.
I was devastated.
“They could be anywhere on a 240km stretch of road,” I wept. “We’ll never find them.”
It was too late to go back, but Scott suggested I posted on the community Facebook page.
Taking his advice, I prayed they’d be found.
Next day, my phone beeped with a Facebook message from a woman called Pam.
I have your guitars, she’d written.
I cried tears of relief this time and drove straight to Pam’s home 40 minutes away.
“I saw the post last night,” she explained. “Then when I was driving my dog to the vet this morning I spotted something on the side of the road.”
She’d done an entire loop to go back and check.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I choked.
Pam hugged me as I told her all about my dad and how much the guitars meant.
She refused a reward but later that week I sent her a card and a piece of my artwork as a thank you.
We’re still Facebook friends to this day and I’ll never forget her kindness.
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