When Your Parent’s Memory Starts to Change

When my father started experiencing memory problems, we didn’t realize how serious they were. At 80, he was still running his small family business and loved spending his days off on his tractor, baling hay to feed his cattle. Then we started noticing things that weren’t like Dad. He lost his wallet a couple of times and misplaced his debit card. He called me several times asking whether I had filed his quarterly taxes, something he handled himself. When I reminded him of that, he paused and said, “Oh yeah? Hmm. Okay, let me check the checkbook again.” I remember saying, “Dad, we already talked about this last week.” Around this time, I started having that sick feeling in my stomach that something wasn’t right.

One morning, he called my mother from his store in a panic. He was sure he had taken the business checkbook and money bag with him that morning, but he couldn’t find either one. He was convinced someone had walked into the store and stolen them. My mother asked whether he might have left them at home. He was adamant that he hadn’t, so they called the police and filed a report. When they returned home, the checkbook and money bag were sitting on the counter. Dad couldn’t understand how he could clearly remember taking something with him when he hadn’t. It makes me sad to think about that now because I can imagine how scared he must have been when he realized his memory was failing him. These are only the incidents we know about. I still wonder how many moments of fear and confusion he experienced by himself.

If something similar is happening in your family, start writing down specific incidents. You don’t need to decide whether you’re seeing dementia, normal aging, medication effects, or something else. Record what happened, when it happened, and whether you’re seeing a pattern, then share those details with your parent’s doctor. “Dad asked the same question four times this morning” gives a doctor more useful information than “Dad seems more forgetful lately.”

Meet Them Where They Are

We didn’t have much time to gradually adjust to Dad’s dementia. As it progressed, he had a stroke, and suddenly we were dealing with dementia alongside the cognitive and physical changes caused by the stroke. His abilities changed much faster than we expected. Over time, we settled on a simple philosophy: meet him where he is. That means looking at what Dad can do today and finding ways for him to participate and feel successful. Some days he can do more than others, so our expectations change with him.

My mom is his biggest cheerleader, literally. When Dad finishes a word find or solves a puzzle, she claps and gets genuinely excited for him. He loves seeing how happy she is, and she loves helping him through difficult puzzles or games and celebrating when he gets them right. Dementia and his stroke have changed their relationship, but he can still experience the satisfaction of figuring something out and having someone he loves celebrate with him. We aren’t giving up on what he can do. We’re trying to give him opportunities to succeed at what he can do now.

His Personality Is Still There

Dementia has changed Dad, but it hasn’t erased his personality. His sense of humor still pops up, and when it does, my sister and I usually end up rolling with laughter. We live for those days. Sometimes he sings little Spanish songs to my mom as he’s walking through the house, and every now and then he’ll pass her and give her a wink. He can still be quite the charmer.

There are harder emotions too. Some days he seems sad, and other times he’s angry or simply doesn’t want to do what we’re asking. Because finding words has become difficult, Dad has developed another way of making his opinion perfectly clear. He sticks out his tongue and makes a mad face. It usually makes us laugh, but we understand what he’s telling us: “I don’t want to do this.” Difficulty speaking doesn’t take away his preferences, emotions, humor, or frustration. We’ve had to learn his new ways of communicating instead of expecting him to communicate the way he once did.

Watch for What They Stop Asking For

One of the quieter changes in Dad’s dementia has been learning that what he doesn’t ask for can matter as much as what he does. He rarely tells us he’s hungry anymore, but if we offer him fruit, trail mix, or an Ensure, he’ll usually have some. Eventually, we realized that waiting for him to tell us he was hungry wasn’t enough.

The same thing happens with other needs. He might not remember that he needs his walker before standing, and he needs prompting through familiar hygiene tasks. He may enjoy an activity once we get started but would probably never suggest doing it himself. Before dementia, these were decisions he made automatically. Now more of that responsibility has gradually shifted to us. It helps to notice the things your parent once initiated on their own, including eating, drinking, using the restroom, moving around, or starting an activity. They may increasingly need an offer, reminder, or cue rather than asking for what they need.

What works will also change. We’ve added more verbal prompting, changed activities, increased supervision, and adjusted what we expect from a normal day as Dad’s needs have changed. Something that worked six months ago isn’t necessarily the right approach today.

Supporting Your Parent Without Losing Sight of the Person

Years ago, when I visited my parents, Dad would wake me up early and ask if I was ready for coffee. My answer, at least in my head, was sometimes, “Not really, Dad. I was asleep.” I feel very differently about those mornings now. Coffee is still one of his favorite parts of the day when he’s lucid and chatty. If he’s awake early with something he wants to say, I’m happy to sit with him in the quiet of the morning and listen.

He still likes his coffee. He makes us laugh. He sings to my mom and occasionally flirts with her as he walks past. He gets frustrated and makes sure we know when he doesn’t want to cooperate. He enjoys being praised when he solves something difficult. There are also days when he’s quiet or tired and we see much less of those familiar parts of him. We’ve learned to make room for those days too.

If you’re early in this process, you may still be trying to understand what the changes in your parent mean. If you’re further along, you may be adjusting to abilities that have changed faster than you expected. You don’t have to figure out every stage at once. Pay attention to the person in front of you, notice what still brings them pleasure, help with what has become difficult, and give them opportunities to remain part of their own life.

Meet them where they are.