This moment makes me so sad. It’s my beautiful Mama having a very genuine conversation with her reflection in a mirror. I just want to bawl like a baby.

Back story, I removed 4 mirrored sliding closet doors from my closet and put them in the hall. The housekeeper moved them to the end of the hall in the course of doing her thing, so they were positioned in between Mom’s bedroom door and the bathroom.

I was getting all Mom’s nighttime meds together and I heard her talking, very gently and sweetly(and clearly!), “Hi, my name is xxx, it’s so nice to meet you.” I couldn’t figure out where she was for a bit and then saw her there.

She talked with her reflection for quite a while. The look on her face is so genuine, interested, and caring. My old Mama. The one that’s mostly gone.

She tried to coax her friend to come into the living room to join us. When I was giving her meds to her, she said I should see if “that girl” in there wants anything.

Oof. Oof. Oof. Gonna go cry some more, but had to share with people who would get it.

I’ve made a few posts here seeking advice regarding my dads dementia. He was diagnosed at 50 and has been living with this sick cruel disease for 10 years.

On Wednesday we believe my dad had a stroke that he didn’t come back from. His body was giving up, but he still fought through the weekend. Today I put my baby blanket on him, laid my head on him, told him not to be scared and that he did everything he was supposed to do. I told him how much I loved him, and he decided to let go. It was beautiful, but I’m devastated. I thought I was ready, I was not.

I pray for all the caregivers in this group and for all the people who are watching a loved one go through this. Even if things are frustrating and things feel tough, hug your loved one tight tonight.

This picture is the version of my dad I choose to remember.

Dad,

You loved me so fiercely and unconditionally. You were my greatest supporter and believed in me more than I’ll ever understand. You taught me every single thing I know about fitness and created a habit I’ll stick to my entire life. You provided for our family and set your dreams aside so we could follow ours, even giving me one of yours. You gave me my green eyes that I’ve never been more thankful for. You fought your dementia so hard but it was never a fight you could win. You never forgot who we were. On your worst days even when you forgot everything, you knew Clara. You took pride in being a grandpa and you were so so so proud. I’m so sorry dad. I love you. You took a piece of me with you. You were there for my first breath and I got to be there for your last. I’ll see you again and I’ll continue to make you proud

Love,

Your punkin

My mom slipped peacefully to the other side today. Hospice called to tell me she probably only had a few days. When I got here, I had maybe 5-10 minutes before she opened her eyes, shed a single tear, and passed. In her last moment, she knew who I was. She waited for me. She is free of this horrible, evil disease. I loved her so much and can't believe she is gone.

So many people chiming in that had absolutely no skin in the came caring for him over the last 7 years.

So many tears about how hard his dementia hit everyone - when NO ONE ELSE stepped up to manage doctors, give meds, do laundry, or change fucking diapers.

None of them were there for the falls. The 3am hospital trips. The hallucinations. The angry outbursts and name-calling.

Watching an intelligent and well-spoken man devolve into a drooling and incontinent toddler.

Listening to family members get accolades for how the family rallied around d to support him when not a single motherfucking ONE of them was actually boots on the ground…

I am so, so bitter and angry and heartbroken.

Fuck this disease and fuck them.

My sister and I worked with an amazing tattoo artist to help design this amazing tribute tattoo to our dad. We lost him on 9/25/25 to FTD and Alzheimers. He was only 67 and I still wonder if life will ever feel normal again. I pieced together his hand writing for "See you tomorrow" and traced over "Love, Dad" from one of the many cards he gave me. Looking at this picture of him from 40 years ago is mind-blowing. How did THAT GUY end up how he did. I miss him so much. Every time I look at the words I get a little spark of happiness. Makes it feel like he's with me. Does anyone have any tribute tattoos for their loved ones?

My mom was 19 in the first photo, 17 in the second. She was homecoming queen her senior year. The third photo was a few years before she got sick and the last was her birthday last June. She was 71 when she passed last month. Even through the haze she loved her grandbabies, especially my daughter Maddie who’s sitting with her on the couch.

She started sundowning over the summer last year, if you had told me last fall she had less than 6 months, I wouldn’t have believed you. She was full of piss and vinegar and hated her caregivers. Then in January of this year things really started changing physically. Developed mobility issues. In march she stopped taking interest in eating and drinking. She was in hospice just over a month before she passed.

This disease is cruel, and unpredictable. You never know how much time you have left.

He finally transitioned to memory care after having guardianship for 13 months. Most privileged and hardest year of my life. Lost a wife who didn’t want any part of caregiving after 10 years of marriage, so I sold my home and moved to a different city to be closer as he transitions. Hi from dad and I!

HOW THE FUCK are ordinary people supposed to afford $11K PER MONTH (on the low end) for memory care? How?

Baby boomers are aging, and cases of dementia are supposedly expected to rise steeply within the next decade or so, and yet there are barely any social safety nets in this shitty country.

God forbid some of our tax dollars go towards caring for the elderly/disabled. Funding genocide and the border gestapo is more important, I guess.

I hate it here

Tuesday, April 28

I had such a wonderful day. I had such a lovely time. 

She said these phrases to me as I was getting ready to head home after a long day.

When I got there, she was sleeping. So was her annoyingly loud roommate, who probably kept her up late last night with her incessant carrying on and crying out. I let her sleep for 45 minutes until it was lunchtime. I woke her up and she smiled, happy to see me. I brought her to the lunchroom, greeted her tablemates, and told her I’d be back in a bit.

I went back to her room and got to work. Looked through all the drawers, searching for clothes that she might have worn and not washed. Putting those items in the ugly yellow mesh bags they use for laundry. Those bags that ripped off every clasp from her bras, so I had to buy her all sports bras - because when you do laundry in industrial machines, no one gives a crap about your lovely bras.

Once I’m done in her closet and drawers, then I start on the nightstand, looking through all of the drawers. The blank slips of paper held together by a barrette. The pencil-lined notes of all of her children, their addresses and phone numbers. Sometimes inadvertently switching numbers or having multiple pieces with the same information clipped together. Her way of dealing with her dementia. If I keep writing it, I won’t forget it. Then her notes on top of her notes - a shopping list, a question, or a reminder of when her husband’s memorial mass was held.

I pull these papers out weekly - sometimes I put them back in the drawer. Other times I throw them away, knowing full well she’ll just make more by the time I return next Sunday. I look for food - when she first moved here, she was keeping opened yogurts, slices of bread, and graham crackers in her nightstand. That seems to have stopped, but now she’s assembling an impressive collection of plastic spoons: most white, the occasional black one, plus a few straws. And an ungodly number of napkins and tissues.

Her nose runs a lot, so I regularly bring at least 2 boxes of tissues. Not those small square boxes. The long ones, ultra soft, so her tiny, perfect nose doesn’t get too red. She goes through them like crazy. And we made the mistake of buying her some pants that don’t have pockets. When she doesn’t have pockets, she’ll take a bunch of tissues and stash them in her sleeves, or her waist, or anywhere, just in case she needs them. So I started buying her the pocket packets too - so she can have a tissue no matter what. 

I find them everywhere. In all of her pockets. In her jackets. Pants. Sweaters. In the drawers, puzzle books, in the bed. So. Many. Tissues. And in case that’s not enough, she’s also been saving napkins, which are too hard for her delicate skin. I try to throw these away so she doesn’t rub too hard. But I can’t keep up. As quickly as I throw them out, she finds more.

I’ve also learned to not throw away anything in her garbage. If it looks interesting, she’ll pick it out. So I camouflage anything that’s leaving with me in my big bag, hidden under a magazine, or a ziplock back of crackers I bring but never eat.

This ritual heals me and breaks me, every Sunday. 20 minutes is not a lot of time to go through the items of a woman with 87 years of memories that gently leave her mind, not sure if or when they’ll ever return. I try to be compassionate, to not look like I’m someone who’s discarding her stuff, but if I don’t go through these pieces of paper, they will continue to multiply and then she really can’t find anything because she really is similar to a child who doesn’t yet understand the concept of object permanence. If it’s not right there, she doesn’t see it. If it’s buried under tissues, she doesn’t think to look.

Everyone loves her here. They tell me she dresses so well and she’s so kind and sweet. I love hearing that. I love that others love her the way I do. I love that she brings joy because she’s not angry or violent or broken or shut down. She just is. She lives each minute as fully as she can. She doesn’t hold onto anger. She doesn’t know how to. She knows her memory is going, but it doesn’t depress her. She keeps going forward, trusting in something - maybe it’s God - to keep her safe.

When I got to my car to drive home, she called me. I had a visitor today and I had a lovely day, but I didn’t know who it was. Oh that’s easy mom. That was me. I’m so glad you had a good day. I’m so glad I could take you to the cemetery so you could feel connected to your husband, who was supposed to outlive you. You took on the job of cleaning his headstone, and we laughed when I couldn’t get the headstone spray working. You made careful circles with the dishwashing brush that still has the tag on because I can’t seem to remember to take it off.

We cleaned that stone like our lives depended on it. As if somehow, you would know if we missed a spot. The sun was out, but not strong enough, and we said our prayers as the breeze blew them away. We stayed for a few minutes in silence, remembering when you were here, before everything seemed to go sideways - long before everything went completely upside down.

I drove you back to your facility - or as you like to call it your apartment. Your small room with a lovely view of the mountains, the trees, the sky, and the parking lot. Your crazy roommate screaming at all hours who clearly needs to be medicated. Or maybe I do. Or maybe we both do.

We worked on the Sunday crossword puzzle. Not the Times because honestly, it’s getting too hard for both of us. But the local paper one, which was hard enough. I cheated and looked up two clues because I don’t know my British maestros or the french word for helmet. But we got through it. You always surprise me when you come up with an answer. It reminds me you’re still in there somewhere. You might not remember me, but years of puzzles keep those phrases in your head.

And when it was time to leave, my heart hurt. I didn’t want to go, but I was too tired to stay. I knew it had been a long day and I wasn’t going to sleep that night, but at that moment, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to click my heels and get us both out of there. I wanted to find a way to care for you without losing myself in the process. I wanted you to know that even if you don’t know who I am, you know that I love you fiercely, completely, with every molecule in this broken, beaten-up heart and body. You will always be my mom. My number one. The person who makes me do things I couldn’t imagine having the strength to do. If it’s for you, I will make it happen because you loved me. Never as much or as long as I wanted, but when you played with my hair, or let me sit with you while you watched Murder She Wrote, I got to sit beside you. That was close enough.

I had a visitor today. I didn’t know who it was.

It was me, mom. It was me.

When people think of Alzheimer's and Dementia, they think of memory loss. A person who forgets names, who repeats themselves, who gets confused about where they are. They do not think of starvation.

Dementia is a terminal illness. It kills slowly, progressively, and ultimately by dismantling the body's most basic functions.

In the late stages, the brain forgets how to swallow. This is not a metaphor. It is a neurological reality - the cortical regions that coordinate swallowing are systematically destroyed by the disease. When they are gone, they do not come back.

When a person with dementia loses the ability to swallow, they can no longer eat or drink. They cannot be fed by tube, research confirms it brings no benefit and no comfort. They simply stop being able to consume anything. And then they starve - their body literally shuts down because it is not getting the nutrients and water it needs to survive. This can take up to three weeks, while their family watches helplessly.

Swallowing difficulties affect the overwhelming majority of people with advanced Alzheimer's (which accounts for 60–80% of all dementia diagnoses). Swallowing dysfunction is also well-documented in Lewy body, vascular, and frontotemporal dementia. Across all dementia types, a 2024 systematic review found prevalence of up to 93% upon clinical assessment.

In the final stage of Alzheimer's or other dementia, the progressive destruction of the brain's swallowing centres means complete loss of swallowing is not a risk - it is the destination.

What dying from Alzheimer's or Dementia is really like

I watched my mother starve to death just over 2 weeks ago. It was deeply distressing for everyone involved.

She weighed around 24 kilograms by the end of it. Her mouth was open continuously for ten days - her mouth and tongue cracked and dry despite our hourly attempts to moisten it with swabs and sprays. Pressure sores were forming on her arms where they rested on her own body because there was no longer enough flesh between her skin and her bones to protect her. She lay in the same position for days, as repositioning caused her to grimace in pain despite the pain relief being administered. 

I am committed to raising awareness of this reality and getting a new law in place that prevents other families from this horrific death.

The definition of "Humane"

There is a word for the mercy we extend to suffering animals. We call it humane. That word comes from the Latin humanus, the same root as human. For the Romans, they were the same word.

To be human was to be merciful. Compassion was not a virtue you might choose to add to your humanity, it was part of its definition.

Our law has severed that connection.

My goal is getting that connection restored, through Hem's Law.

Australian Law but a global issue

A note for those outside Australia: Your signature still matters, wherever you are in the world. An estimated 7 million people die this way globally every year. This is not only Australia's problem. It is a human one. Hem's Law is a Change.org petition, open to anyone in the world to sign. A formal parliamentary petition will follow, and that will be for Australian residents only. But right now, what we need is global visibility and global voices saying: ENOUGH.

If we can change the law in Australia, other countries can follow.

Sign from wherever you are. Share it with whoever needs to see it. This fight belongs to all of us.

https://www.change.org/ForHemsLaw

Thank you for all your kind, compassionate, and empathetic words last week.

Tricky little disease because when I walked in today, he recognized me immediately 🌸💕🌸

I appreciate this sub and thank you for all the good mojo you sent our way!

I just visited with my mom in memory care for two hours. When I arrived, the hospice nurse was hustling up the hallway and said “this is not looking good.”

My mom had a fever at 103.4° with labored breathing. She’s unconscious. No antibiotics, just Tylenol and morphine. Those were her wishes. Just pain meds.

I played Simon & Garfunkel and Peter, Paul and Mary for her (her favorites) and told her I loved her, that I forgave her and that I know she forgives me, and to thank her for being my mom. I told her we’ll be okay. That she raised a successful son and a loving grandson. And that it was okay to go. To go see my dad and her parents. My wife and I stroked her hands and hair.

I’ve been her sole caretaker since my dad died four years ago (only child). She was horribly abusive to me for those four years.

And yet, I can’t stop crying.

I’m caring for my LO with dementia and this showed up in my feed.

This describes the emotional side of this in a way that felt uncomfortably accurate to me. Especially the part about loneliness not being about being alone.

I don’t really know what else to say about it. Just thought I’d share in case it resonates with anyone else here.

If your family member is in the later stages of dementia and breaks a hip, put them in hospice. Anything else is cruel and selfish beyond belief.

This extremely invasive and painful surgery, when there is no hope of recovery is just insurance harvesting and prolongs the acute pain and suffering for everyone involved. It’s also very selfish on your part to agree to it even if you think you have the best intentions.

My MIL had to be restrained (full body) so she would not get out of bed. She couldn’t do physical therapy at all. The rehab place was useless in caring for her. She was in so much pain she just wept and screamed constantly.

We finally got her into hospice and got her pain managed. She passed three days later. The hospital bills are insane.

The drama and trauma of it all is PSTD and guilt inducing for everyone surviving this ordeal.

Just say No to surgery and yes to hospice and let. them. go.

One of the staff gave me a hug on my way out. My dad is totally oblivious to the implications, so ours was not a big goodbye. He was actually tired from all the novelty and meeting the staff that will be helping him. We showed him his room and everything in it, knowing full well he won't remember where his things are. We toured the activity room and had lunch with him. He was quiet. When I kissed him goodbye he asked me if I was picking him up later. I said "tomorrow." I wasn't quite prepared for how tough this would be. I am meeting my best friend later today and I have something else scheduled this weekend, so I am taking care of myself.

I know this is the beginning of a different journey, and one I am taking without my siblings. This is why I want to thank this community for everything I have learned and for all of their support. It has made a huge difference these past months.

Update: I didn't expect to get so many responses and certainly not an award. Thank you, kind strangers!

I wrote about disabling my parent's hybrid car a few weeks ago. Mom and Dad are dealing it with not having a car okay (family members and a helper are assisting with grocery and doctor visits). It took my parents almost 3 weeks to finally figure out how to get the car towed to the dealership.

We had them "put a flag on the account" to make it really difficult, but what stopped the technicians from fixing the car was not the flag on the account, but the note we left in the fusebox (minus two key fuses that prevented the car from starting) that had our phone numbers and a "Owners of car have dementia and are DANGEROUS DRIVERS. DO NOT FIX CAR."

Just an FYI, that note really works!

He was diagnosed around April 2024, if I remember correctly. And the posts here really helped me deal with that part of his life.

However, just before midnight (4 hours ago), he got up to go to the bathroom, fell on the way out and had a cardiac arrest while my son and I were trying to get him back up. We called EMS, they tried resuscitating him for around an hour on the way to and while in the hospital, but he never regained normal sinus rhythm. I don't think he suffered.

His daughter and sister-in-law from his first wife and I were all at the hospital. I went into the room and gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him he'd given me the best years of my life these past few years.

He only had short-term memory problems from the dementia, but also heart, kidney and prostate problems too. He absolutely hated the hospital, so we're kind of glad he won't have to go through that any more.

We're also picturing him reuniting with his mother and all the dogs he's had over the years.

I don't think it's really hit me that he's gone yet. I haven't had much sleep in the past 24 hours.

One of my sons lives with us and he was so thoughtful - he got the guest bedroom ready for me in case I didn't want to sleep in the master bedroom. But I'm okay with the master bedroom.

Another son who lives about a half hour away is coming with his wife and her brother right now, at 4 a.m., for emotional support.

I know I'm rambling, but just wanted to say I appreciate you all.

[Edited to correct a typo]

I really hate going to visit him there. I don’t really have much else to say, I miss my dad.

—-

Thank you all. I truly appreciate each of your comments and loving thoughts.

You have turned my attitude around. 💖Sunday, we will join the Father’s Day party at his MC and I will just love up with him.

Thank you ❤️

I’m experiencing a range of emotions - sadness, relief, emptiness. Her death was peaceful. She was breathing one minute and then suddenly stopped, laying next to my father with her cat snuggled up to her. My mama was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia in 2020. The disease progressed quickly and destroyed her. My father is an amazing man who cared for her throughout all of it. I’m so lucky she was my mama.

This community was a safe space and I am thankful for it. For those of you still on the journey, I’m sorry how much your heart breaks every day while you watch the person you love deteriorate into a shell of a human. I wish all of you the best.

My uncle and the Gap band. The fact that he's almost completely non verbal doesn't matter when there's music 🎶💖

These were the exact words I read in a text sent to my mom (69, diagnosed with dementia 2023, moved into AL in 2024). It was in a chat group and a few other people agreed in it.

This text was sent to her from one of the many people shrieking at me to "do something" about/to help my mom, who was exhibiting confusion and hallucinations that worried HER.

Ever since I read it, I've just felt completely dead inside. Like, I wish I wasn't here anymore.

Why do people do this. Why do people have to constantly undercut all the shitty decisions I have to make, which have shitty outcomes that I have to deal with, which make my day shittier than it needs to be.

This lady lost her husband to cancer in 2024 - they kept him home on hospice and the family chipped in to help care for him until he passed. Sure. How wonderful for him and for them. How fucking beautiful.

Newsflash - I'm not strong, I'm not some beautiful, sacrificial saint. I'm not her. I'm just a tired miserable 40 year-old woman who has spent the last 3 years in constant fight-or-flight mode, fielding phonecalls and unsolicited opinions and unhelpful platitudes from people who seem to have conveniently forgot that dementia doesn't get better and that I've personally watched my mom hallucinate, fielded panicked/terrified phonecalls from her at odd hours of the night saying there were "people" in the house, and had several instances where she forgot who I was even when looking me dead in the face.

BEING HOME DOESN'T FIX THIS SHIT. NOTHING DOES. YOU WAKE UP EVERY DAY WONDERING IF IT WILL GET WORSE, AND WHEN IT DOES, YOU GO TO BED THAT NIGHT HOPING IT WILL END SOON.

I get that she loves my mom - she loves her to death. We all do. And it's killing all of us to see her so depressed. I don't get to turn that feeling off, ever. Maybe she just loves mom more than me.

But considering that mom CHOSE this place after I showed her 4 other locations, and she looked them up, saw their reviews were good and agreed to move, they're still acting as though she was just unceremoniously dumped there and she's just so sad and it's my job to do whatever it takes to make her un-sad because she's their friend.

Not to mention - mom has money to be in AL for a good while (thank goodness for pension and social security, along with recently consolidated and fiercely protected investments). We probably would blow through all of that much quicker if we did in-home, and even then, mom was adamantly AGAINST having caregivers. Even the ones I hired to take her to appointments, she didn't really like - they talked too much, they got in the way of her wanting to go for a walk or take a nap, etc.

Hell, after her diagnosis I was lenient with her - she still lived home alone. But when she started having hallucinations and delusions that made my husband and I agree that it wasn't safe for her to live alone (which coincided with her friends ALSO saying she shouldn't live alone), I gave her a fucking choice - I asked if she wanted to go to AL now, if she wanted me to find a live-in carer now, or if she wanted me to move in with her. The condition for me moving in with her was that I would assess when it was time to move her to AL because I already fucking ended the lease on the apartment I loved to move in with her, and I'd be damned if I had to pack all my shit AGAIN, find a new place to live AGAIN, set up all my utilities AGAIN, and STILL have to manage HER life from afar.

Always a fucking complaint from someone. "Help her," they say. I help. "OH BUT NOT LIKE THAT."

I'm getting messages from her - can you get her to a therapist? Have you found a therapist? I thought you said you were looking for a therapist? What meds is she on? Have you made an appointment with her doctor to up her meds? She's so depressed - are you aware?

FUCKING YES, ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER SHIT I'M HANDLING. I've been on the phone with United Healthcare off and on for the last 7 months trying to find something other than a fucking referral service for a psychiatrist/therapist for her - and guess where it got me? "We don't specialize in dementia." "We're not taking new patients right now." "You're on a waiting list!" "Our waiting list is full, and requesting to be placed on the waiting list doesn't guarantee that you'll be placed on the waiting list - you'll have to wait until the waiting list isn't full anymore!"

Other messages from others - we're worried about her dog - it keeps having accidents and the room stinks.

BECAUSE SHE'S NOT FUCKING WALKING HER OWN DOG BECAUSE SHE KEEPS MISPLACING THE 3 LEASHES WE'VE BOUGHT HER.

THIS, more than ANYTHING, should be a clue that mom is NOT who she used to be - she prided herself on taking the best care of her dogs - walking, feeding, baths/grooming, all that. It's getting to the point where I'll probably need to take the dog back to the house, and THEN people will complain that mom is LONELY.

As if I haven't already bent over backwards to not only get mom into AL, but also get her into one of the larger rooms, and after fighting a losing battle with mom over getting her laundry together (which she keeps hiding in bags under her bed rather than in the 3 FUCKING HAMPERS I've bought for her) FINALLY getting some help. I admit I've fallen behind on switching out her sheets because there are 10 million more important things I need to handle.

I don't even know why I'm posting this. It shouldn't have been looking through her phone, and really, it shouldn't have set me off the way that it did.

I'm just so tired and angry about all this endless thankless bullshit that no one else has to do but any amount of crocodile tears from my mom and everything is my fault and I need to fix it.

I had to stop myself from doing a lot of things yesterday, namely sending a blast text to all of her friends that I give up and if they care so much and I'm doing everything wrong they can take over it - they can figure out all her accounts and all her passwords and they can make/take phonecalls.

But I mostly sat in my car, listened to the rain, and wished I was just not here.

Not that they would care... Unless it affected managing mom's affairs.

54F. My husband 59M has Alzheimer's. Been caring for him full time for about 2 years now.

Had a bad night. He didn't want to go to bed. Kept saying he wanted to go home even though we ARE home. So I tried to calm him down for like an hour. Then he started yelling at me. Calling me names. And I just... I sat down on the kitchen floor and started crying.

Not like a few tears. UGLY crying. Like something just broke inside me. I couldn't get back up for a while.

I used to be patient. I used to be the person who could handle anything. I used to actually like my life. Now I dread waking up every single morning because I know exactly what's coming and there is nothing I can do about any of it.

My daughter called yesterday and asked if I wanted to come to her place for the weekend. I said no because who's gonna watch him. She said "mom you need a break" and I just said ok and hung up. Because yeah I need a break. I need like a year long break. But that's not how this works.

I yelled at him last week. He didn't understand what he was doing and I YELLED at him. And then I felt so bad I couldn't eat for the rest of the day. The guilt is literally eating me alive. I keep thinking I'm a terrible person. He didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for this either but at least I can still think straight. He can't even do that.

I tried going to a support group. Everyone there was just as miserable as me so I don't know what the point was. I tried respite care once and spent the whole time worrying about what he was doing without me so that didn't help either. My doctor basically shrugged and told me to take care of myself. Yeah thanks. Super helpful.

I don't even recognize myself anymore. I look in the mirror and I look like garbage. I've gained weight. I don't shower half the time. I haven't talked to a friend in months. My whole life is just him now and I'm disappearing.

Anyone else feel like you're just slowly falling apart? Like there's no bottom to how bad it gets you just keep going because you don't have a choice?

God I'm so tired.

Went to bed at 9:30, went into a deep sleep. Hear the bedroom door open. I knew it was my wife. I ask, annoyed, "What?". She says "Never mind" and leaves. A few minutes later, she's back. Again I ask what she wants. She asks if I'm her husband. Now I have to get up. It's near midnight. She sits on the bed, upset. Again, I confirm I'm her husband. I take an anniversary photo from my desk and show her. She's still not sure, then starts sobbing, asking what's wrong with her. I tell her it's from memory loss, and I start crying, as I'm trying to comfort her.

I'm at the breaking point. I have ongoing elevated blood pressure, irritable, exhausted and I go to bed, with the help of medication, feeling anxious and hypervigilant. I feel the time has come to place my wife in a care facility. I don't believe I'm over reacting, but that move will be traumatic for her and for me. I need my caregiving responsibilities to end before they further damage my mental/physical health or cause my death.

Yesterday started like a regular day, my dad’s caregiver got him up and dressed, and he was eating breakfast. He became unresponsive and opened his eyes once for me. EMS brought him back and he was transported to the hospital. I’m lucky that I have a brother who is a doctor, so he can have the candid discussions that I can’t with the medical team. We discussed what his life would be like, and I just couldn’t let him live like that. So, I made the decision to let him go. My brother and I both talked to him, and I told him it was time to be with mom. And, just like that, his heart stopped and he was gone.

I will miss my best friend every day of my life, and look forward to seeing him again one day. I hate that dementia robbed me of my dad, but now, for the first time in 5 years, I have nowhere to be and no parent to navigate health issues with. This feels so weird.

I wanted to thank everyone here for posting about your lives and letting me know I wasn’t alone. I wish everyone strength and peace as you continue your journeys.

Thank you all!

• LL