Tag: Vascular dementia
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Taking my six-year-old to see his grandfather
I took my six-year-old to visit his grandfather in a care home. I was afraid it would upset him, afraid of the changes, the reality of dementia. Instead, he met his Opa with calm curiosity, kindness, and resilience, reminding me that children see what is, not what’s lost.
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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.
dementia in the family 