A Reflection on Dementia

A loved one who is with you, yet no longer with you—Mourning a loss while they are still alive.

It starts slowly—forgetting a little, here and there.

Forgetting conversations, a little here and there.

Repeating the same stories, a little here and there.

Misplacing objects, a little here and there.

Then it becomes more than “a little.”

The gaps in conversation grow wider.

The repeated words grow frequent.

The misplaced objects stay lost.

But it isn’t just the memory that fades, subtle changes take hold,

A shift in behaviour, restless nights,

Sudden mood changes,

Visions and voices only they can hear.

They drift into a world we cannot follow, then the whispers begin:
“Papa is getting so difficult,” they say.
“Mama was always tough, but now… she’s impossible.”
They do not see that dementia is the thief, quietly rewriting the person they once knew.

As the shadows deepen, recognition fails.

Mama looks at the daughter she raised as if she were a stranger.

Baba cannot recall the name or face of his youngest, his favourite.

Baba eats, but the table becomes a battlefield of crumbs.

Mama tries to cook, but her hands forget the recipes of a lifetime,

Moving with the uncertainty of a ten-year-old.

Only then does reality dawn.

Only then do the hospital visits begin.

But the tide continues to pull them away—

A little more, here and there.

Until the person you loved is no longer recognizable.

You see the body, but the person is gone.

You live with a stranger who does not know you—

And whom you no longer recognize.

You cry every day for the loss of a loved one,

Someone who is still with you, but no longer there.

— Adedunni Olusanya 

Disclaimer: This content is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice.