dementia in the family

Tag: daughter

  • What the body knows

    Sometimes, despite everything dementia has taken from him, my dad’s body still knows how to rest. He sleeps, he dreams, and for a while, he escapes the waking world. Sitting beside him, I’m struck by how clever and resilient the body can be, even when so much else has been lost.

    What the body knows

  • Out of bed

    ,

    My dad wasn’t in bed when I visited. It felt like a small change, but not a small moment. Later, a chance conversation at the hairdresser made me think differently about what care looks like in other homes – especially when it’s carried mostly alone.

    Out of bed

  • Learning to talk about loss

    My daughter got upset for the first time about her grandad’s dementia. I’d been waiting for the moment it stopped being something she only understood in theory. When it came, it wasn’t new information that hurt her, but the realisation of what had already been happening all along in her family.

    Learning to talk about loss

  • Only sleep

    I went to see my dad for the first time since he became bedbound.

    Only sleep

  • Bedbound

    Visiting my dad is becoming harder as his dementia progresses. This piece reflects on a recent shift to him being bedbound, the emotional weight of witnessing these changes, and the challenge of accepting each new stage. I’m learning to be honest about the sadness, rather than always searching for something positive.

    Bedbound

  • Sharing about dementia

    I explore the importance of sharing the realities of dementia with honesty and care. We need greater compassion, visibility, and open conversation to support people living with dementia.

    Sharing about dementia

  • I Remain in Darkness by Annie Ernaux

    Annie Ernaux’s I Remain in Darkness is a raw, fragmented account of her mother’s dementia — exploring shame, guilt, care, anticipatory grief and the strange experience of losing someone who is still physically here. It made me reflect on how conversations around dignity have changed, and on my own dad’s illness.

    I Remain in Darkness by Annie Ernaux

  • Taking both of my children to visit their grandfather

    I took both of my children to visit my dad in the care home for the first time. It felt daunting, but it was gentler than I expected. Their presence brought light to my dad and the other residents.

    Taking both of my children to visit their grandfather

  • Grief in dementia

    Visiting my dad now, I barely recognise him, and he doesn’t recognise me. Dementia changes everything—memories, personality, connection. Grieving isn’t a waste of time; it’s a way to honour what’s lost. And even in the sadness, there are moments that remind me he is still here, still my dad.

    Grief in dementia

  • The shortest day, over and over

    I visited my dad on the Winter Solstice, the shortest and darkest day of the year. Dementia feels like living at a threshold — between past and future, daughter and carer. Advanced dementia, to me, feels like the shortest day, over and over again.

    The shortest day, over and over