Tag: life
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Grief in dementia
Visiting my dad now, I barely recognize him, and he doesn’t recognize 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.
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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.
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Running on empty while loving someone who’s forgetting
Life feels like a long-distance run right now—school runs, work, dinners, collapse, repeat. I know I need to visit my dad, but dementia makes every visit tender and painful. He hardly knows me, and sometimes my presence unsettles him.
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Riot Women and midlife
Riot Women focuses on middle-aged women navigating that uniquely intense stage of life – caught between raising children and caring for ageing parents. Two of the characters are dealing with a parent’s dementia, while also confronting menopause and the other challenges that seem to hit all at once at this age.
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What modern life does to our minds
After camping in the calm of a Sussex meadow, returning to London felt like sensory overload. The noise, concrete and pollution make me wonder what modern life does to our brains. With my dad’s dementia in mind, I feel the urgency of protecting my own future health.
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Visiting my father with dementia
“Your teeth look great!” my dad said – the first full sentence in a long time. It landed like a gift. Visiting him in the care home is never easy. Dementia has taken so much, but that small moment of clarity, of kindness, reminded me he’s still here, in glimpses.
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Assisted dying and dementia
Assisted dying is back in the spotlight as UK legislation progresses. For people with dementia, it’s a deeply personal and often painful subject. This post explores how offering choice, with safeguards, could bring dignity and peace of mind – without devaluing life or rushing decisions. Compassion means respecting autonomy as well as vulnerability.
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One step forward, two steps back
Visiting my dad in the care home is a mix of quiet miracles and heartbreak. Dementia shifts constantly – progress one day, confusion the next. He said my name, something I haven’t heard in so long. I carry that small moment with me, even as everything else keeps slipping away.
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Walking, wandering & dementia
When dementia took my father’s ability to walk, it marked the loss of more than movement – it was the end of our shared rambles, his independence, and a lifetime of direction. This reflection traces his journey from avid walker to wheelchair, and the emotional terrain we now navigate as a family.
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Father’s Day
Father’s Day felt hollow without my dad at the table – he’s back in the care home after a fall and hospital stay. Watching other families with grandfathers stung. I miss his quiet wisdom, his help, his presence. Even everyday problems remind me of what we’ve lost, piece by piece.
dementia in the family 